Ghosts in the Fog
by A-blackwinged-bird
Summary: COMPLETE. After an attack in the woods, Sam is left alone and with amnesia. Dean must find his brother and together, with the help of some friends, they battle the thing that prowls Black Hills Forest.
1. Chapter 1

**Author**: BlackWingedbird  
** Beta**: Amy  
** Muse**: Sassy  
** Warnings**: Language and violence  
Standard Dis  
** Synopsis**: After an attack in the woods, Sam is left alone and with amnesia. Dean must find his brother and together, with the help of some friends, they battle the thing that prowls Black Hills Forest.  
**  
Author's Note**: This story was started on December 15th, after I recieved an email from Sassy. Herself, Amy and I tossed this idea around and I've been working on it ever since, occasionally calling upon the girls for help and inspiration. After it was completed in the beginning of July, Amy worked her masterful Beta skills and 'sharpened the edges'. And now, seven months and 67 pages later, I present to you my first multi-chaptered Supernatural story.  
Enjoy,  
emily

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_'Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog  
Where no one notices the contrast of white on white  
And in between the moon and you the angels get a better view  
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right'_

_-'_Round Here_', Counting Crows_

Darkness.

Pain.

Cold.

A frustrated cry escaped his lips as he curled in on himself. One arm wrapped around his aching chest and the other bent against his belly. He drew up his knees tightly, pressing his arms against his abdomen completing the tight ball as violent shivers racked his body. Warmth eluded him, though, as did the sanctuary of oblivion; blown away like a leaf upon the wind.

It was raining, he finally realized. The cold, fat drops of water splashed upon his skin over and over, relentless in their assault. He shivered harder. His clothes were soaking wet and heavy with the coldness that seeped into his bones. The earth beneath him was melting into mud, and it splashed into his eyes, lips and hair. He was sinking in it.

With unconsciousness only a fading memory, he faced the fact that it was time to act- to move.

He uncurled his arms, planting his hands in the cold, thick mud, and pushed himself into a sitting position. Coldness attacked his torso as his ribs exploded in pain, and his lower vertebrae felt like they were twisting out of his spine. Another cry escaped him, louder this time, but there was no one around to respond. A violent shiver ripped through him as his bones turned to ice.

His eye lids were heavy and it took a long minute of panting and self-control before he could focus on his

surroundings. How did he get outside? The sound of rain echoed all around him. Deciduous trees towered above him on all sides, their leaves twitching and jumping as the raindrops splattered upon them. It was night, but a full, heavy moon shone brilliantly through the tightly woven spider web of tree limbs. Dark shadows lay draped over the forest floor, as black as the holes of open graves. What was he doing here?

A wild fear flared within him. There was something here, and it was after him. He had to get out of here.

His fingers sunk into the cold, slimy mud as he pushed himself to his feet. The heavy denim clung to his legs and hips, weighing him down and making him sluggish and awkward. The mud made a sucking noise as he pulled his hands free, then he straightened and took his first tentative step.

Another shiver tore through him, and he lost his balance.

He reached out and gripped the scabrous bark of the nearest tree. He looked down, searching himself for a clue as to his identity, but only found himself dressed in nondescript clothes. His sneakers were untied and caked with mud. His light blue jacket was glistening in the moonlight, pregnant with rain water that dripped in excess onto the ground around his feet.

He felt empty. He reached up and raked a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he pressed it against his skull. His head hurt from within, and he felt a large, swollen, tender knot near the base of his skull.

Questions forced their way through his pain, demanding attention with the gripping, paralytic force of a mouse before a rattle snake.

Who was he? Where was he going? What was he running from? What had happened?

Behind him, braches snapped and he jumped. A low growl echoed through the trees and his blood ran cold. He had to get moving; something was still after him. Something was after him, and it meant to kill.

He stepped forward, pushing off from the tree in order to gain momentum. Water squished in his shoes, pressing through the material like sweat through skin.

He had barely taken two steps when he tripped over something and stumbled. A tree caught his fall. He looked down at the object, knitting his brows as he struggled to bring it into focus.

It was a camouflage backpack, its straps tangled and pressed into the mud.

_Take it_.

He obeyed. Never slowing, he bent and plucked the pack from the mud as smoothly as a hawk snatching a rabbit. He paid for the act when he became dizzy and cross-eyed, and the next several steps were spent regaining his composure.

The objects inside the bag were odd-shaped and clumsy and the banged against his back as he ran. The leaves were slick and they hid branches and holes on the forest floor. Several times he tripped and crashed into an unforgiving tree, his body screaming in agony. His head pounded and his limbs were too heavy. His chest burned.

Panic spurred him on. There was no time to think or feel- he simply had to escape.

His life depended on it.

Fifteen minutes later, what little strength he had was depleted. Hot sweat was dripping down his spine, mingling with the cold rivulets of rainwater. Goose bumps littered his flesh and he was unable to stop shivering. His teeth clacked together as even his jaw clenched. His breath turned to fog as he panted, and the steam raised upwards through the rain and limp leaves. His eyelids were heavy, unable to open more than half-mast, and he was no longer walking as much as he was stumbling.

He stopped, leaning his shoulder against the unforgiving tree next to him, and swallowed the thick saliva in the back of his mouth. His heart was beating so hard he could hear the rhythm in his ears. He couldn't go any further. His head was threatening to explode and the pain in his ribs forced him to take shallow breaths.

But then, up ahead, glowing like the fire of hope itself, he saw a light.

Instinctually, like a moth to a flame, he began to move towards it. It was coming from a large building, situated neatly in the center of a manicured grass field. He moved towards it. The woods gave way to the open lawn, and while he was grateful for the flatter terrain, there was nothing to grab onto when his vertigo got the best of him. He fell to the ground with a bone-jarring thud, and simply lay still as the world spun and he gasped for air. His muscles ached, his lungs burned, his throat felt raw- he didn't want to get up. His head was throbbing and before he knew what was happening, his body was wracked with pain as dry heaves stole even more strength.

But he needed to move, now! The feeling was strong; it consumed him and dulled his misery, driving him once more to his feet. Something of unimaginable evil was after him, igniting the most basic of all instincts: Survival.

And he ran, shakily, the remaining distance towards the house.

He stood, panting and gasping, before the last obstacle to his haven. Three rather daunting concrete steps that led to the wooden front door.

His lungs burned and his muscles were leaden with fatigue. He was staring his salvation in the face, yet was unable to push his weary body any further. So close, yet so far. A cold raindrop slithered down his face, and a hot tear followed closely in its wake.

At the edge of the woods, a blood-curdling growl- like that of a large cat- filled the air and he stopped breathing, paralyzed in fear. The sound was neither human nor animal, but something from the depths of Hell itself. He glanced over his shoulder- morbid curiosity getting the better of him- and saw the long black shadow of an over-sized panther racing towards him, its nails and teeth glinting in the moonlight. The eyes glowed fire-red.

He lurched forwards, announcing his arrival rather ungracefully as he tripped and collapsed against the house's thick door. The hair on the back of his neck stood up- the evil was closing in fast.

It would not stop until it had him.

He raised a hand and pounded on the door, splatters of blood staining the wood where his hands made contact. "Help!" he yelled against the doorframe, his voice hoarse and foreign in his ears. His pounding grew more intense as a sick feeling of despondency twisted in his belly.

It was getting closer.

More lights were turned on from within the house, and a shadow appeared behind the thin white curtain covering the front window. Pressing himself to the door, his desperation blossoming every second he was left unprotected out here unprotected, he continued to beat against the wood. His strength was waning.

The cat- if that's what it really was- was sliding through the darkness with frightening speed.

He was going to die.

Suddenly, his support fell away and he collapsed inside the house at the feet of an unfamiliar woman. "What on earth are you doing outside on a night like this?" she asked, instantly kneeling at his side. Her voice sounded like bells and he wanted to cry with relief. "Are you all right?"

"After me," he panted, clawing at the carpet in an attempt to pull himself completely inside the house. The thing wouldn't cross the threshold, somehow he was sure of it.

"After you? Who's after you?" The stranger helped him sit up. "You're bleeding!"

He winced, leaning back against the wall just inside the front door. She was worried about the wrong thing. He wanted her to be afraid of was lurking outside. He would be fine as long as he stayed inside, in her company. The light from the overhead chandelier was bright and it made his eyes ache and water, so he kept them pinched shut as he struggled to catch his breath. She moved about him, her voice full of concern as she murmured.

The door clicked shut and he was enveloped in warm, peach-scented air. He relaxed, feeling inexplicably safer now, and fought a tickle in his throat as warm, soft female hands traveled over his face and down his arms.

"Where all are you hurt? Oh look at you, I should get you to a hospital! You poor thing-"

"No," he grunted, struggling to sit up, "No hospital." He cracked open his eyes, finding a middle-aged woman standing before him in her nightgown, wearing a distraught, concerned look on her face.

"But-"

A thunderous bang shook the door as if something had slammed into it from the outside. He jumped and the woman screamed, raising a hand to her face and backing towards the center of the room. Brilliant orange light pushed through the miniscule space between the door and its frame.

Flames licked at him from under the door.

He pushed himself away, dragging the sodden backpack as he moved.

"What's going on?" she cried, looking from the door to the stranger and back. Tears glistened in her eyes.

No sooner had she finished the question then a horrible screeching cut through the air, loud and piercing enough to send his hands to his ears.

It was the sound of pure anger and hate, and he was afraid.

The door began shaking as the creature threw itself against it relentlessly. A single silver claw splintered the wood and the woman screamed. He knew that unless he acted, they would become the evil's next victims.

His heart beat wildly in his chest. What was he supposed to do? How could he ever hope to defend them? He didn't even know who he was-

His eyes fell upon the backpack at his side. Had it been an omen?

He snatched it and pulled it towards him, wincing as the screeching became louder without his hands muting the noise. The woman was becoming hysterical so he ignored her; he couldn't allow her helplessness to overtake him as well. With bloody, trembling fingers, he ripped open the bag's zipper and dumped out its contents.

A plastic flask of water, a wooden cross, a leather-bound journal, and a small leather pouch fell to the floor- but it was the sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun that captured his attention.

Without any further thought, acting on an instinct he didn't understand, he grabbed the weapon and pushed himself to his feet.

"What are you doing?" the woman screamed, tear tracks glistening upon her cheeks.

He didn't answer because he didn't know. But he placed himself defensively between the woman and the door, the gun held tightly in his white-knuckled grip as he prepared to face his attacker. He couldn't stand by while an innocent person was dealt the same fate as his own. If he was going to die tonight, he would go down fighting.

He was holding his ground, feet spread wide and shoulders tense, when the noise died away. The light grew fainter and disappeared, and the door remained still and intact. The house was deathly quiet save for the hitching breaths of the woman behind him.

He dared to breathe. Where did it go?

He took a small step forward, raising the shotgun towards the door in paranoid precaution. Goose bumps raced over his skin as the temperature seemed to drop.

Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the door's once beautiful finish. His eyes strained to see outside.

Off in the distance, a long, lanky shadow stopped just inside the tree line. It was blacker than the night surrounding it, as if the thing weren't simply colored black, but was made up of darkness itself.

It wailed, the sound of frustration and hunger and vengeance, then it disappeared into the trees.

He shivered as the ice in his veins was- at last- warmed by relief. They were safe, for now, and the gun clattered to the floor, dropped from nerveless fingers.

Unable to stand any longer, he dropped to his knees and sat on his heels. Hands were on his shoulders, and he jerked at the touch.

The woman looked down at him, concern and pity written in her eyes. "Who are you?"

Emptiness swirled within him, where all his memories were supposed to be. He closed his eyes once more and ignored the tear of helplessness that burned down his cheek. He wanted to be strong, but his voice came out in a broken whisper.

"I don't know."

At last, unconsciousness returned to him.

o0O0o

Nine hundred miles away, Missouri Mosley bolted upright in bed, her heart racing as it ached for the young hunter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: See chapter 1.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate your time and kind words.

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Dean Winchester collapsed upon the worn leather seat of the small diner booth. The cushion gave way with a quiet hiss and his leather jacket creaked as he folded his arms over the wooden table. He let out a heavy sigh , then dropped his head onto his forearms and closed his eyes in the relative darkness.

His shoulders were tense and painful. He rolled them, fighting the hindrance of his jacket, and buried his face deeper into his arms so that his nose hit the coolness of the table.

He sighed wearily. His feet hurt from the endless days of searching, never resting, never giving up. The same determination left his eyes hurting as well. It felt good to rest them for a moment. Hell, it felt good to rest _period_.

"You okay, hon?"

A gentle hand on his shoulder prompted Dean to raise his head. He squinted in the bright lights of the small diner. "Sorry," he murmured, blinking to bring her shape into focus. "Just resting my eyes."

Her name tag pronounced her as 'Sara', and the middle-aged waitress smiled. "Sweetie, you look like you need to rest more than just your eyes." She rested the tip of a pen on the tablet in her other hand and asked, "What can I get for ya?"

Dean hadn't had much of an appetite for a while. Not since Sammy had vanished. "Just some coffee, please. Black."

"Sure thing sweetie." Sara didn't even write it down, just shoved the tablet into the large pocket on her pink apron. "You don't fall asleep in the meantime, ya hear?"

Dean offered her a smile for her efforts but let it fall as soon as she turned away. He hadn't truly smiled in a long time.

Six months. Six months ago, he turned his baby brother loose. Sent him back to college, back to the protected, social life he deserved. Dean couldn't watch the light fade from Sam's eyes any longer. It was the longest talk Dean had ever initiated with his brother, and in the end, the pain he suffered in private was just as bad as when Sam had left all those years before. Except this time, there were no harsh words. No exiling. No making Sam feel like he was betraying Dean. They kept in touch. They saw each other, whenever Sam's schedule allowed. Sam was making friends, making excellent grades, making an honest living at a movie rental store close to campus. Sam joined Dean for the hunts close to Stanford- they were even planning on meeting in Georgia at the start of summer break for a poltergeist job. Sam didn't seem to mind the hunting- as long as it was on his terms. Dean watched the light steadily return to his brother's eyes and he knew in his heart he had made the right decision.

What was the saying? If you love something, set it free?

True to their bond, Sam had come back, but it was the in-between time that left Dean in misery. Their father hadn't contacted him in months, and Dean was beginning to move past the point of worry and more towards despise. He had been raised under a strict hand, and approval was hard-won, but Dean had never experienced an absence of authority. He had no one to tell him what to do now, and no one to do it with. Dean was depressingly alone.

And it really, really sucked.

"Here ya go, hon," Sara announced as she placed a steaming cup on the table before him. A cinnamon roll on a small round plate followed. "This is on the house. You look like you could use it."

Dean's hands wrapped around the warm cup and some of his tension melted. "Thank you," he replied, glancing up at her with pure gratitude. He hadn't been looking for handouts, but he wasn't one to turn them down.

"Sure thing," she replied easily. "You just look like someone who lost their best friend."

He must have grimaced, because she smiled apologetically, gently patted his arm and whispered, "Sorry," then retreated to the counter.

Two weeks ago, Sam disappeared. Dean was in Sacramento, having just completed a simple poltergeist case, and he headed east to wait for Sam in Georgia. He'd even stopped at mall along the way and bought Sam a CD. Dean had been thrilled at the idea of the two of them spending a couple months together- and Sam had sounded excited as well. Sam had already bought his plane tickets and relayed the flight information to Dean.

Dean was there when Southwest flight 1028 touched down at gate C-22 of the Georgia airport.

Sam was not.

He had just talked to Sam a week prior, and it was nothing short of sheer panic when Dean discovered that his brother had gone AWOL. Dean was in a frenzy- he remained at the gate for three more hours, searching the crowds of people until the security guards began closing in. He called Sam's cell phone, but no one answered. He called the Stanford's administration office, but it was closed. With no other options left, Dean got in the Impala and drove to California.

He had already met most of Sam's friends and finding them wasn't extremely difficult. Some had already left town on vacations of their own, but the ones that remained he questioned at least twice, including the teachers. He'd scoured the school grounds, the movie rental shop, local hospitals… everywhere that he and Sam had gone together.

It was as if Sam had simply dropped off the face of the earth.

Nobody saw or heard anything, nobody knew anything. After a week of mind-numbing searching, Dean realized it was time to change tactics. So he got in the Impala, Sam's gift still on the passenger seat, and drove away from sunny Stanford. He hadn't known where he was going, and now, another week later, he still didn't.

Dean's fingers sunk into the soft, warm, icing-covered dough as he uncoiled the cinnamon roll. Specs of cinnamon mixed with the smooth white icing as he worked. He tore the dough into 12 bite-size chunks, but only one actually entered his mouth. He chewed and swallowed on reflex, never really tasting it.

Without his realizing it, the hunt for Sam had replaced the hunt for his father. Dean's concern for John Winchester had mutated into anger some time ago. Dean had done everything right, obeyed every order to a fault- and still, Dad abandoned him. It wasn't just the abandonment, either. John never responded to any of Dean's pleas for help. Even when Dead had called, late at night and a little tipsy, all-out _begging_ for John to return- or at least let Dean know where he was- he'd gotten nothing. Not even an acknowledgement that yes, John received the call but no, he couldn't come and help. What was going on in his father's life that was more important than his own sons? Was something keeping him away? Was he being held prisoner somewhere? Was he sick, or injured, or… dead? Did he _want_ Dean to give up the search? Dean idolized his father. He was a strong, smart man who always had the right answers.

Sam, on the other hand, would always be Dean's little brother- always need protecting. There was a stronger sense of urgency when it came to finding Sam. A drive more powerful than the one to follow his father's cold trail.

A bell jingled as the glass door was pulled open and a breeze of warm summer air blew inside. A family of three entered and they smiled as Sara approached to escort them to a table. Dean watched them follow her. The parents were holding hands as they walked amongst the tables and the little boy- no more than ten- followed closely behind. His sneakers were untied and his hair grew over his ears and into his eyes. A Gameboy was holstered in the back pocket of his jean shorts.

As the family took their seats, Dean and the boy made eye contact. Dean smiled disarmingly, trying to ignore the surge of longing as the boy offered a tiny, lopsided smile in return.

God, he missed Sam so much it hurt.

Dean let his gaze fall back to his plate and rubbed a hand over his face, scratching over the stubble on his jaw. His stomach cramped at the sight of the food in front of him, and he pushed the plate away. He needed to eat, he knew, but his heart was leaden and the emptiness inside him made him sick. He hadn't hunted anything since Sam had disappeared, other than Sam himself. The weapons sat unused and untouched in the trunk of the Impala. He'd sold a few, when money had been tight and hustling wasn't an option. Dean was aware that he was letting himself go, but he couldn't seem to stop it. The need to find his brother kept spurring him on, and the hope that he'd one day find Sam dangled before him like a carrot before a horse.

Funny how time dragged to a stand-still when you were incomplete.

"Well, I can see my efforts have been wasted here," Sara sighed as she looked between the plate and Dean. There was no edge to the words, only concern and sadness. "Can I get you anything else?"

Dean shook his head and straightened, trying to look not so pathetic. "Just the check please."

"Oh honey, it's on the house," she replied with a wave of her hand. "I can give you the name of a decent motel though, if you're staying the night."

Dean was shocked by her generosity. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said, then blinked and regained his composure. "Are you sure about the bill? I have money-"

"Nonsense. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself." Sara shifted her weight and put her tablet and pen in her apron. She smoothed out the light pink uniform her smile melted, and lines of pain formed around her mouth and from the corners of her blue eyes. "I had a son about your age," she started, focusing on some point across the room. "He was such a good boy growing up. Always so helpful, so kind to everyone. Made friends real easily, ya know. He was just one of those special people."

Dean knew from the way she talked about him in the past tense that her son was dead. He propped his elbows on the table and listened quietly.

"His best friend, Matt, was one of those shy boys, you know, always alone even in a room full of people. But my Shawn, he seemed to bring that boy out of his shell. They were inseparable. Even on the same baseball team in high school."

The silence was unnatural, so Dean swallowed and asked, "What happened?"

"Matt was killed in his freshman year of college. Hit by a car. Shawn saw the whole thing."

"I'm sorry," Dean replied, and found that he genuinely was. "That must have been hard." He winced as his words came back to him. _Hard_ was an understatement. If Dean ever had to watch Sam die…

"Shawn was killed in a car wreck four months later. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt." Sara sighed and shifted her weight again, regaining her composure. "But in those four months, Shawn was never happy. He had been devastated by Matt's death. Nobody could fix what had been done." She paused, catching Dean's gaze.

He knew what she was insinuating and quickly countered. "My brother's missing, he's not dead."

Sara smiled sadly, ducking her head. "I see."

Denial burned hot inside Dean. Sam _was_ alive, he _had_ to be. "Thanks for the coffee," he said curtly, "But I think I'll be going now."

Sara backed out of the way as Dean stood. "Where are you going?"

"To keep looking." There were only 50 states… It wasn't impossible.

Sara remained where she was, watching as Dean headed for the door. "I hope you find what your looking for," she said, her voice carrying in the relative quiet of the small diner.

Dean paused, his hand on the cool metal door handle. His stared numbly as his own reflection in the glass. "Me too."

Then, with a sigh of determination, he pushed open the door, heedless of the bell overhead. He squared his shoulders, determination fueling his heavy heart, and stepped into the Texas night.

He had a brother to find.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: I apologize for any confusion over the bridging of chapters one and two. Chapter two takes place 2 weeks after Chapter one. Thanks for all the lengthy, inspirtational reviews! I feel very supported with this story.

See Dis in Chapter One

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Linda Silvey finished pouring the sun tea into the tall glass, smiling softly at the tinkling of ice cubes as they swirled inside the drink. Almost instantly, the cold liquid formed condensation against the heat of the mid-summer afternoon. She set the pitcher down upon the red and white checkered table cloth and, satisfied the table was ready, went to the screen door.

Outside, her mystery charge was tending the grounds of her moderately sized bed and breakfast. His shirt was off and sweat glistened on his back as he knelt on all fours, pulling dandelions from the mulch in her rose garden. His jeans were spotted with dirt and grass stains, and Linda could see how damp his shirt was even as it hung through his belt loop, swaying in the breeze. His oversized leather gloves were stained green at the finger tips. His bicep tightened as he yanked on the small weed, then he shook the mulch from the tuberous root and tossed it into the white, five gallon paint bucket at his side. His hair was limp and wet and it fell into his eyes every time he swiped the back of his wrist across his forehead.

Something wet nudged Linda's palm and she looked down. "Hey there boy," she greeted softly as the old Golden Retriever wagged his tail slowly. "Why don't you go get Jake and tell him lunch is ready?" Linda pushed open the screen door and the dog trotted outside, the sunlight instantly reflecting off its graying coat.

She eased the light wooden door shut and watched as the dog made its way across the neatly cut lawn, the fingers of her left hand playing with the fine silver chain that lay around her neck. The boy had come to her nearly two weeks ago, in the dead of the night. He'd literally shown up on her doorstep, bleeding and scared and without any idea who he was, or what was after him. Linda had taken him in, unable to see any evil intentions behind his clear green eyes, and had fostered him as she did any other orphaned animal that came to her. The helplessness of the boy had awaken her maternal instincts, which had grown faint and unused in the deepest part of her soul. She couldn't help but treat him as her own child, and he in turn responded as such. Her own children were grown and living lives of their own, and she missed them as any good mother did. They'd call every so often, when birthdays or holidays were near, but other than those brief conversations her world was quiet. Or it had been, until he'd shown up.

Linda's husband was dead and her only other means of constant companionship was Bear, her arthritic, 12 year-old dog. She'd lived in and operated the bed and breakfast for the past twenty years, and had seen the comings and goings of many kind, wonderful people. The house was situated on five acres of fertile, southern Georgia real estate. The Black Hills Forest sat to the east, sprawling farm land to the south and west, and Turner county was just a few miles to the north. Linda had grown up here. She knew most of the folk in town, and they knew her, and she'd never met a traveler she didn't like. She had only enough money to keep the place running; there was no reason for Linda to fear strangers. She led a calm, peaceful life where her only source of stress came from a tractor that wouldn't start, or a burnt out light bulb too high for her to reach.

Which is where Jake filled in perfectly.

Unhappy with calling him 'child', Linda asked if he liked the name Jake, because he looked like a 'Jake' with that shaggy hair and soul-piercing gaze. He'd shrugged, and she'd called him Jake ever since. He'd had no identification and the odds of Jake actually being the boy's name were next to nothing, it just seemed to fit.

After he'd protected her from a still undetermined species of wild animal (because there were no black panthers in Georgia, right? Only the occasional cougar…), Linda had taken the young man into the kitchen and tended his wounds. He'd sat stock-still as she disinfected the cuts and wrapped them. He'd allowed her to clean the mud from his face. She'd tried asking him again who he was, or what kind of danger he was in, but a large knot on his head only suggested that his amnesia was real. So Linda had helped him change into some of her son's old clothes and she put the stranger to bed before he could pass out from obvious exhaustion.

That had been fifteen days ago. Since that night, he'd recovered no more of his memory, at least none that he'd told her about. Once his wounds had healed and she'd put a few good meals into him, he'd started doing chores around the house, unbidden. It started with the light bulbs in the attic, then her screen door stopped squeaking, the barn stopped leaking, and then the weeds started disappearing.

Linda blinked, clearing the memories from her eyes, and saw the object of her thoughts allowing himself to be dragged along by Bear's gentle jaws. As they approached the step, the dog's tail waved high, announcing his successfully completed task. Jake came to a stop and Bear released his wrist, remaining at the young man's side.

"You know, you could've just called me," Jake said, grinning shyly. "I was just right over there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the garden. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple and off his jaw, landing on his bare chest.

Linda fought back a grimace and forced a smile instead. "You know how important it is that we make Bear feel useful," she replied, opening the screen door. Bear jumped up the steps and trotted inside, going straight to the kitchen's cool hardwood floor where he plopped down with a groan. Jake started inside as well, but Linda grabbed his elbow, pulling him off-course from the table. "Go get a shower first. I won't have you sweating all over my delicious food."

Jake smiled more brightly and his seldom-seen dimples dotted his cheeks. "Yes ma'm," he replied, then he disappeared up the stairs.

Linda's smile faded as she turned back towards the kitchen. Her heart ached for the young man. He couldn't be more than 25, and in fact his vulnerability and politeness made him seem even younger. He was very quiet and she often worried that he was depressed, but he turned down all of her offers to take him into town. So Linda had let the matter drop, and they'd eased into a comfortable routine of daily chores and small talk. He was welcome to stay for as long as he needed. She rather enjoyed the company.

Linda sighed as she walked around Bear's still form. "What are we going to do with him, Bear?" she asked herself, although the dog's tail thumped the floor in response. "I wish he'd let us help him."

Bear whined in agreement.

The muted sound of running water started above their heads, signaling that Jake had started his shower. Linda opened the oven door, breathing in deeply as the flavorful aroma of casserole wafted out on the hot swell of air. She studied the surface of the dish, decided it needed a few more minutes to cook, then shut the door and reset the timer. She was about to pull the dessert from the refrigerator when the phone rang.

She stepped over Bear, who was still sprawled out on his side, and grabbed the phone from the wall mount. "Sunnyside Bed and Breakfast," she answered before the third ring.

"Hello," replied a light, kindly, woman's voice. "I'm afraid this might sound a little strange- My name is Missouri Mosley, and I'm looking for a friend of mine."

Linda propped a hand on her hip and turned to watch Bear twitching in his sleep. "I'm afraid I can't disclose any of my guest's names," she replied. The woman sounded nice enough, but Linda had to protect her customers.

"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to do that," Missouri said. "I just need to know if a boy came to you recently. Tall thing, thin as a bean pole, dark hair and eyes that look like they've seen the devil himself?"

Linda moved her hand from her hip and brought it up to cover her gaping mouth. "Jake… I- who are you?"

Missouri's voice was still as smooth as honey. "I'm just a concerned friend, Linda, looking for my boy."

Linda sank into the kitchen chair at the head of the table, the coiled phone cord stretching taught behind her. "How… How'd you know my name?" Her heart was racing.

"It's all right, sugar. I'll explain everything when I get there."

Linda ran a hand through her thinning hair. "No, I don't think-"

"That boy has a family who loves him dearly. His disappearance has caused enough people a lot of unneeded pain. It's time for it to stop."

The woman's southern voice was soothing and calm, but Linda's heart was pounding with fear. It didn't make sense- how did this woman know Jake was here? Who was she? "What do you want with him?" The water shut off and Linda glanced at the ceiling.

"To bring him back where he belongs."

The next thing Linda knew, she was listening to the dial tone. Bear raised his head, setting his chin on his shoulder as he looked at her with cloudy amber eyes. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Don't worry, boy" she murmured, setting the phone in her lap. "We won't let anything happen to him."

o0O0o

Missouri pushed the 'talk' button and set the phone on the table.

At last, she'd found him.

It had started with a phone call two weeks ago. A distraught young man, searching for his missing brother. She'd been confused at first, but as he rambled in distress, she knew exactly who she was talking to and what he was looking for.

Missouri Mosley remembered the Winchester brothers very well. She'd sensed Sam's power from the moment he walked in her door, all those months ago. He'd been an emotional wreck- still grieving for the loss of his girlfriend and still unsure of his role in the pursuit for John Winchester, and ultimately, his mother's killer. Missouri felt a strong pull of empathy for the boy. It'd broken her heart to feel his pain- too much pain for such a young person to be carrying. She wanted to help him, to take him under her wing and serve as the mother he'd been robbed of- but it was not her place. They'd come to her for help in ridding their childhood home of a poltergeist, and that would be the extent of her services.

And it had been, until now.

The small, broken Winchester family had been in and out of her life for over two decades, appearing and disappearing like the fog on a summer's night. Not long after the death of his wife, John Winchester had come to her, seeking Missouri's help in his quest to find Mary's killer. He was still in grieving, and his pain had been palpable.

Missouri smiled as she remembered that day. She'd just finished with a customer and was still standing in the doorway as a large black sedan rumbled to a stop in front of her apartment. A baby seat was strapped securely in the back seat and a small round face peered through the front passenger window, wide green eyes searching her as she watched the driver get out.

_/The man stood, studying the brass numbers attached to the post she was leaning on, then looked down the small piece of yellow paper in his hand. He looked up with dark, haunted eyes. "You Missouri Mosley?"_

_She'd replied in the affirmative, still a little off-balance by the newcomers. Most of her clients were young, and stupid. She was a joke to most people- just something to do for fun. Most of her clients didn't look like the world had collapsed around them, and they certainly didn't tote around young children. _

_"You're psychic?" the man asked. _

_Missouri couldn't help but notice the hopeful look in his empty eyes. Again, she nodded her head. The little boy in the front seat continued to stare at her, somehow unnerving the experienced woman. _

_The man shoved the paper in his jacket pocket. "I need your help."/_

And so Missouri's first encounter with the Winchesters had begun. They'd sat in her small living room, the child and the infant parked on the floor in the corner, and John had told her in hushed words about the evil that had come to them. Tears came to the man's eyes as he spoke of finding his wife pinned to the ceiling, burning to death. By the time he was done, Missouri's own throat was constricted and her gaze had settled on the two young children.

The older child, Dean… he was still looking at her as if he were still trying to determine if she were a threat. He'd placed the infant behind him, blocking her from getting a good glimpse of the baby. Missouri smiled softly, hoping to ease the child's worry- but he turned his back to her, redirecting his attention back to the infant.

Missouri felt her heart bleed for them and from that moment on, she vowed to help this family in whatever way she could.

The clock in the hallway chimed and Missouri blinked the memories away. Dwelling in the past wouldn't reunite this family any faster. She had work to do, miles to travel, and it had to be done quickly. Something evil was lying in wait.

With determination, Missouri picked up the phone and dialed the number of the one person who could help her make everything right again.

o0O0o

He knew it was a dream, yet he couldn't stop it.

He was running through a stone tunnel. Dim lighting reflected off walls made slick with water and accumulated slime, and the shallow puddles on the ground drenched his shoes and socks and the legs of his jeans. But still, he ran forward, breathing in the warm, stagnant air and barely registering the putrid smell. His gun was drawn and held securely in his iron fist.

Up ahead was Sammy, cornered by something dark and evil. He was scared and bleeding and backed into a corner as the black shape closed in. Dean shouted, hoping to distract the creature. Instead, the tunnel grew even longer, placing him even further away from his little brother.

The creature was blacker than night itself. Its features were indistinguishable- it was as if it were a shape cut into the fabric of time, a demon-shaped hole in the sewer-like setting. The edges of the shape were wispy and smoky- the thing was clearly non-corporeal. On the ground, Sam looked terrified. The creature was rising up, making itself large and looming, and Sammy seemed to be shrinking before it.

Dean ran faster than he ever had before, and it still wasn't good enough. His legs burned and his chest ached. He felt the weight of fatigue beginning to numb his limbs, but still he pushed on. He had to save his brother- there just was no other option. He would not let Sammy fall into the claws of evil.

Suddenly the creature shrieked and burst into flame. Dean pushed himself harder and the creature shrieked a second time, yet it was unmoving as it hovered above Sam. The bright orange flames reached upwards, licking at the wet, grimy ceiling and Sam looked petrified.

Then piece by piece, the sewer system fell away and was replaced by white bed sheets and ugly cream-colored walls. Still, something shrieked. Dean sat up, his chest heaving as he panted for breath, and realized his cell phone was ringing.

He swallowed hard, glancing around for any traces that his dream hadn't been just a dream, and grabbed the small phone off the nightstand. "Hello?" he breathed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm his racing heart.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

He straightened, recognizing the woman's smooth voice. "Missouri?"

There was a pause on the line, then, "Dean, I've found him."

Dean went numb. Emotion bubbled up in his throat, demanding to be released after all this time of worrying and searching. A smile broke over his face, yet at the same time, tears blurred his vision. "What? Where? Is he alright?" His voice was high and cracking but he didn't care. He was already reaching for his jeans.

"He's safe, for the moment," Missouri replied calmly. "He's at a bed and breakfast in southern Georgia."

Dean pulled his belt tight and looked around the room, trying to remember where _he_ was. He glanced outside, noting the sun was still fairly high in the sky. "I can be there in less than a day," he said, doing the math in his head. He would leave now and drive all night, hopefully crossing Georgia's border by mid-morning tomorrow.

"I'll meet you."

The statement didn't surprise him. Missouri had been concerned about Sam since Dean had called her- almost as concerned as he was. "Where?"

"There's a diner, at the edge of Alabama."

"What's the address?"

Dean scribbled the address on a napkin between shoving his arms through his shirt sleeves. He sniffed, still trying to reign in his emotions. Two weeks of panic and sorrow were over. Sam was found, albeit worrisome that he was so far away from California, but Dean could sort that out later. Right now, he needed to feel his brother, to hold him and hell- maybe even hit him for all the stress he'd caused.

He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and threw it in the duffle bag, then went to the bathroom to retrieve his toiletries. "All right, I'm on my way," he said in a stronger voice than he knew he had. "Thank you."

"He'll be all right," Missouri replied. "I'll see you soon."

Dean nodded at the order. Then he snapped the phone shut, zipped up the duffle bag, grabbed the handles, and walked out the door, the lingering images of the nightmare quickening his pace.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I want to thank each and every person who reads my story. So much blood, sweat, and tears went into it: and not just from me, but from Amy and Sassy as well. Thank you.

See Dis in Chapter 1.

* * *

Jake woke from his nightmare covered in sweat and breathless.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the frightening images, then turned his head to look out the window. The sky was stained pink as the sun was just starting to rise above the horizon. Dew glittered on the lawn, twinkling up at him like fallen stars, helpless in their places upon the ground. Songbirds flittered about a birdfeeder and plump Morning Doves waddled beneath them, pecking at the seeds the smaller birds spilt. A rabbit was slinking forwards to join the birds, confident enough to leave its shelter of thick Ewe bushes.

Downstairs, Jake heard a familiar clinking of pots and pans. Linda was preparing breakfast, as she had every morning since he'd arrived here. His stomach gurgled in response. He stretched his hands above his head, welcoming the pull of well-used muscles, and flipped back the covers.

Jake climbed out of bed, the cool morning air eliciting goose bumps on his bare skin. His feet touched upon the cold wooden floor and as he shuffled forward, he stepped on the strap of his backpack. It sat in the corner, unopened and forgotten. The hair on the back of his neck rose slowly, softening the edges of his outline as he looked at himself in the mirror.

The face that stared back at him was foreign. Who was he? Was there someone out there looking for him, who cared about him? His parents must be sick with worry- at least that's what Linda had told him. He'd already checked himself for clues; there were no tattoos and the scars he bore provided no hints as to who he was. There had been nothing in his pockets and nothing identifying in the backpack. No wallet, no keys, no folded up pieces of paper to tell him what he had been doing in the woods- or what he was running from. Had he been mugged? Or did he leave all his personal belonging behind on purpose? The bumps and bruises he's arrived here with were faded now, but there were still a few mysterious scars, and he wondered if he'd ever find out what caused them. Jake's memory began the moment he'd woken up alone and in the woods, wet and chilled from the heavy rain. Inexplicable fear had pushed past his aches and pains and he ran until he had found this house.

Linda had taken him in, fed him, warmed him up, tended to his injures, gave him a soft bed… and a name. She was all he knew. His memory was gone, locked away in the darkest corner of his mind, yet she cared for him and nourished him and in return, he trusted her completely. He may not know who he was or what had happened to him, but this place felt safe.

Jake pulled a plain white t-shirt on over his head and pulled the hem down with a tug. He reached up, using the mirror to smooth out his unruly mop of dark brown hair, then reached for his jeans.

Once he was dressed, the sun had climbed higher into the sky and the glare from the mirror forced him to turn away. On his way to the door, Jake paused by the window once more. The birds were still fluttering about, but the rabbit was gone now and in its place stood a young deer. He smiled at the rare sight. The leggy animal crept about, its small hooves soundlessly piercing the grass as it foraged for food amongst the doves.

Jake let his gaze travel past the animals and over the expanse of the yard, towards the dark woods lining the property. He felt something twist in his stomach as he studied the trees.

Something was out there, and it was waiting for him.

It was just a forest, but something ominous and foreboding lurked there and Jake honored his fear. He'd been afraid to leave the house- his only known shelter- even to look for clues about his past. After all- it wouldn't matter who he really was if he was dead. He'd simply make a new life for himself here, and he'd stay alive. Out of the clutches of whatever had chased him two weeks ago. Linda was kind and patient, and there were plenty of ways for him to earn his keep. She'd made it clear that he was welcome here. Like a child clinging to a favorite stuffed toy, Jake clung to this house, letting his unfounded fear hold him prisoner.

Suddenly, the deer's head shot up, its ears erect and eyes wide and unblinking. For a second, its body seemed to be made of stone.

Then the deer turned and sprung, scattering the birds as it bounded away in a flash of white tail. Jake waited, tense and barely breathing against the windowpane, wanting to see what spooked the animal.

Bear trotted into view, his tail held high as he moved to the abandoned birdfeeder and began rooting through the grass. Jake chuckled nervously and turned away, heading for the bathroom while trying to calm his racing heart.

o0O0o

Wiping the last of the shaving cream from his face, Jake inspected his work and set the razor on the marble counter. Satisfied he hadn't missed a spot, threw down the towel and went into the bedroom.

While his body provided no clues as to his identity, there was, however, a journal. It was worn and well-used- the pages were full of gibberish scribbling that had proved to be his own. The words made no sense though. There were lots of numbers, lots of foreign languages. Lots of talk about supernatural beings. Even badly-sketched pictures. Perhaps he was a struggling fantasy author? Since the book was of no help- except in giving him headaches- he'd stuffed it in the backpack and forgotten it.

Frustrated, Jake got dressed. He wanted to find out who he was, but not at the price of traveling into the jaws of whatever lurked in those woods. Linda had told him that his memory would probably return in bits and pieces, so he would remain here, in the only safety he knew, and wait.

Jake brushed his hand over the light switch and headed downstairs and into the kitchen. On his way through the living room, he passed a small end table under a photo of Linda hugging an old woman and wondered- not for the first time- who stranger was. The picture was displayed in the center of the room, instead of having a place on the bookshelf with the other photos. Whoever she was, her and Linda were close at one time. There was still many things he didn't know about Linda.

The smell of pancakes and sausage were overwhelming and his stomach gurgled in response. Linda loved to cook and would always make elaborate meals, even when it was just the two of them. Jake didn't mind the pampering. It made him wonder about his own mother, and what she was like.

"Good morning, Jake," Linda greeted as soon as he stepped off the bottom stair. She was bent over the table, the small pendant around her neck swinging gently as she placed two loaded plates in front of separate chairs. Her apron was spotted with flour and her graying hair was pulled up in a loose bun. The table was already set with a pitcher of orange juice, a plate of lightly-browned toast, a dish of real butter, a small bowl of handmade strawberry jam, and another pitcher of milk. The pans on the stove were hissing and steaming and Linda turned to remove them from the heat. "How's you head? Did you take your pill?"

Jake nodded. "It's fine."

"Did you sleep well?" she asked over her shoulder.

Jake nodded before realizing her back was still turned. "Yes, thank you," he replied as he took his seat. His eyes lit upon the full plate before him and he swallowed. "Did you?"

Linda scraped the cast-iron pan with a wooden spoon, emptying it onto a plate. "Oh honey, I always sleep better knowing there's a man in the house." When she was finished, she set the pan in the sink and came to the table.

Jake watched her, praying his stomach wouldn't rumble too loudly as he waited. With each day, his appetite grew stronger. His chores weren't hard, but they required him to spend most of his days outside and he had the tan to prove it. It was the least he could do in return for the meals he was served.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Linda admonished, settling herself in her chair. "Eat! You've been here two weeks and I still haven't put much weight on you." She reached for the toast and muttered, "If only I knew your secret."

Jake grabbed his fork and pierced the pile of scrambled eggs, the tines _tinking_ against the plate. They ate in silence for a few moments, each one content with simply enjoying the other's presence. The sun was shining in through the window over the sink, spilling bright yellow light over the shiny linoleum floor and the food spread out before them. "Can I ask you something?" he spoke at last.

"Of course."

"The woman in that picture- the one by the stairs… who is she?"

Linda's face darkened and she lowered her fork. "That's my mother," she replied softly. Before the could continue, a group of birds squawked outside, then Bear's joyous barking filled the air.

"That dog," Linda smiled, shaking her head as she grabbed her glass of juice. "Almost thirteen years old and he still manages to sneak up on things."

He studied her, choosing to let the serious topic drop. Clearly, it made her uncomfortable. "I think this place keeps him young," Jake said, chewing thoughtfully. "He's got a job to do- he doesn't have time to think about how old he is. It's happy here."

Linda's smile softened as she studied the butter dish. "I suppose you're right," she murmured, then after a few moments, she blinked and resumed eating. "I need you to stay close to the house today. The Bradleys are checking out and we'll need help packing their things."

Jake studied her for a moment. The slight tension on her face and in her shoulders told him that something was not right. He glanced at the counter, where a newspaper lay folded by the edge. "Did someone else disappear?" The town residents knew enough to stay away from the Black Hills Forest, but occasionally, a tourist would get lost or a cocky teenager would take a dare. The bodies were never found, and the media loved a good ghost story.

Linda shook her head. "No, it's not that. Thank God."

He'd never seen Linda upset about anything, but she sure looked worried now. Jake nodded once, his own brows furrowing as he replied, "Sure thing. Just call me when you need me."

She smiled softly and the corners of her brown eyes crinkled, but the tension never fully left her shoulders. "Thank you, sweetie."

His lips twitched in a brief smile. "Are you okay?" he asked, setting down his fork. He'd only eaten half the food on his plate, but already he was full.

Linda blinked and shook her head, swatting a hand in his direction. "Of course I'm okay," she grinned. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Jake shrugged. "I don't know. You just seem a little off, that's all." A tiny seed of worry had planted itself in his stomach, taking root in the breakfast he'd just consumed. He was still clinging to the stability and security of Linda and her bed and breakfast; he didn't like the feeling that something was threatening them. Had one of the customers upset her? Or did she discover something, something disturbing? About him?

That thought prompted him to keep pushing her. "You would tell me if it was something about me, right? Or if you were in trouble?"

"Oh sweetie," she sighed, and her eyes glistened in the sunlight. She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. "Of course I would. I'm just being silly, that's all. You've got nothing to worry about. Just my imagination running away with me." She patted his hand. "Bear's not the only one getting old around here."

Jake smiled at her, feeling the uneasiness in his stomach ease just a fraction. Perhaps he was being too sensitive. After all, he trusted Linda with his life- she wouldn't keep anything from him, especially knowing how much he wanted to regain his memory. "Okay," he said, and she withdrew her hand. "I'll stick around." He smiled mischievously. "Or you can always send the dog after me."

Linda laughed and rose from the table, picking up their plates. "You're a good boy, Jake. What would I ever do without you?"

Something shifted inside him, and Jake's smile faded behind her back. Would he truly stay here forever? What would happen when he discovered who he really was? How _would_ she manage without him?

"Jake?"

He blinked, bringing himself back to the present. "Yeah," he said, forcing a grin. "What would you do without me?"

o0O0o

It was almost eleven by the time Jake had finished painting the last shutter. The sun was a brilliant ball of flame overhead and the heat of it had given him a deep-seated headache. Deep blue atmosphere stretched over the sky, tucking itself into the horizon. Thick white clouds moved slowly in the gentle breeze that rattled the oak leaves. Jake was perched near the top of an old wooden ladder, paint brush in one hand and steadying himself against the house with the other. The one-gallon bucket of dark green paint hanged off the ladder next to his thigh. The temperature was comfortable, but the sun was relentless and Jake raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His hand lingered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought back the pain in his head.

Linda was in the rose garden below him, pruning the richly-colored blooms from her plants. She looked up at his movement, raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "That looks very nice, Jake! Thank you."

He felt a surge of pride from her approval and moved his hand. "That's the last one, Linda. There's still a lot of paint left though."

"Just put the lid back on and put it in the shed. I'll find something else around here that needs painting."

Jake lifted the handle over the side of the ladder and began his descent, glad to get out of the sun. An hour ago, the Bradleys left for one last shopping spree in town before they headed back to their home state of Arizona. They wouldn't be back for a few hours, so Linda decided it would be a good time to repaint the old wooden shutters while nobody was around to accidentally get messy.

Jake's toe hit solid ground and he let go of the ladder, rocking back on his heel as his other foot followed. The paint can swung in his grip and he took a deep breath against the spots in his vision before turning towards the shed. It was a large structure- more of a garage than a shed, really. It housed the green John Deere tractor Linda owned, plus a variety of garden tools and other supplies. He walked towards it and Bear joined him, hobbling along in front of him as if the dog were making sure the path was safe. The grass had been worn away in a narrow trail leading towards the shed's door, and the dirt billowed up as the two trod over it.

_'You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while.'_

Sam stumbled, dropping the paint can as his hands went to his temples. Pain had ignited within his skull and he cringed, bent over forward with his eyes screwed shut. Panic swelled within his chest. What was happening?

_/ 'Here, take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, 18, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water—Nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.'_

_'A funeral?'_

_'They buried an empty coffin. For uh, a closure or whatever.'_

_'A closure? What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them.'_

_'Something you want to say to me?'_

_' The trail for dad—It's getting colder every day.' /_

Sam was on his knees now, gasping against the overwhelming pain that gripped him. He was barely aware of Bear's rough tongue against his cheek as more images flooded his mind.

/ _'Exactly, so what are we supposed to do?'_

_' I don't know. Something, anything.'_

_' You know what? I'm sick of this attitude. You don't think I wanna find dad as much as you do?'_

_' Yeah, I know you do, it's just-'_  
_  
' I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years, while you've been off to college going to pep rallies. We will find dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay? ' /_

At last, the pain receded and Sam blinked open his eyes. Bear was staring at him, the dog's brown eyes large and sparkling as they stood eye-to-eye.

What the hell just happened?

Jake pushed himself to his feet, his limbs stiff and heavy. In the images, he had been in a diner of some sort, talking with a guy a little older than himself. What were they talking about? Who was the other man? He'd called him Dean, and in return, was called Sam. The revelation got his heart pumping. Were his memories returning? What was his relation to the man in the diner? Friends? Relatives? And who was Sophie Carlton? His mind was spinning; Jake promised himself to scour the journal again later, this time applying his new knowledge.

Still troubled by the experience, Jake pulled open the door and Bear quickly disappeared within the cool darkness. Jake raised his hand, feeling the air above his head for the chain. When he found it, he pulled, and 75 watts of light illuminated the musty shed. A workbench lined the wall to his left, its surface littered with tools and greasy rags. A potting bench sat along the wall to his right, the floor around it covered it spilt soil and fertilizer. The tractor was parked in the space opposite him. There was a single window above the tool bench, but the glass was so filthy that the sunlight could barely penetrate it. Jake added that to his list of things to do and grabbed a hammer. Bear was lying in the dirt next to a sack of potatoes, panting so hard that his tongue was dripping. Jake shook his head and went back outside, leaving the old dog in the coolness of the shed.

Jake set the paint can on the ground and knelt down before it. He grabbed the lid by the edges, set it over the top of the can, and raised the hammer.

A noise caught his attention- a deep rumble that sounded some distance away. Jake lowered the hammer slowly, his attention riveted on the tree line where the sound was coming from. He breath caught in his throat as he waited, every muscle tense with nervous fear. Was the thing in the woods coming for him at last? How would he protect himself? His fist tightened around the hammer's wooden handle and he straightened, still on his knees in the dirt. Would it go after Linda too? Should he try to warn her?

His heart was racing and his lungs burned with expired air. He wanted to get up- to run, but he was frozen in paralysis like a deer in the headlights. The grumbling grew louder and behind him, Bear started to bark.

At last, a large black shape rose over the hill and Jake nearly collapsed with relief. A car. It was only a car.

Feeling like an idiot, he drew in a large, calming breath and tossed the hammer in the grass. He stood and watched as the car traveled slowly over the dirt road towards the house. Even though it was still a good distance off, he knew it wasn't the Bradleys returning from their shopping trip. This car was old and large, but the sun glinted off it fiercely and the engine's strong rumble held no hint of being worn out. As it drew closer, Jake could see two figures inside. The driver was male and the passenger was female. Who were they? Travelers looking for a room?

"Jake?" Linda's voice held naked fear now and she motioned for him to come to her. "Come over here, honey."

He looked back to the car once more before making his ways towards her. The shed and the house were roughly fifty feet apart, and the car was moving in slowly from about two hundred feet away. These weren't regular customers- Linda was never afraid of new visitors no matter what they drove or what they looked like.

"What's going on?" he asked as he reached her side.

She glanced at him then back to the black car, her eyes narrowing as her face hardened. "Nothing, sweetheart. Just go inside for a second, okay?"

Bear was still barking and Jake looked at the shed. "I forgot to let Bear out-"

"Leave him. Just go inside. Now."

"But-"

"Go!" Linda grabbed his bicep and shoved him towards the screen door. On seeing his confused look she added, "I can't explain right now, just go inside and I'll be there in a minute. Call the police."

"Police? But-" Jake climbed up the steps but turned, unable to leave her. On the ground, Linda squared her shoulders and waited. Jake refused to be sent away like a helpless child. She was afraid, and he would stay with her.

The car's tires crunched over the dirt road and small pieces of gravel popped and jumped into the air under the massive weight. The engine rumbled rhythmically as it slowed and came to a stop, then eerie silence filled the air. Dust swirled around the car's reflective black shine. The driver and passenger looked at each other, then with a squeak of protesting hinges, the driver's door swung open, followed by the passenger door.

A brown work boot touched down upon the dirt. Frozen in place by his curiosity, Jake let his gaze travel upwards. A ringed hand grabbed the door frame and as he shut the door, the stranger's full body came into view. His clothes were simple- a solid-color t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. His hair was cut short and sunglasses covered his eyes. A hint of familiarity blossomed within his gut, but it was the necklace that caught Jake's attention. The gold, scarab-shaped pendant captured his gaze and for reasons unknown, Jake felt… safe. _Protected_. Who was this stranger? He stepped off the porch and stood next to Linda. Bear's barking grew more insistent in the background.

"Sammy!" the stranger exclaimed as he started forward.

Jake blinked. Sammy? The man from the flashback… Dean… Recognition brushed against the back of his mind as it danced just out of reach.

Jake found himself stumbling backwards as the stranger grabbed him in a bear hug. The other man's face was familiar- he'd seen this man before, in his dreams. But Jake had no idea who he was. He tensed, too shocked to push away. "Thank God, Sam," he murmured against Jake's shoulder. "You have no idea how good it is to see your ugly face."

Linda was watching with wide eyes. She took a small step backwards, towards the house. "Who are you people? What are you doing here? Stay away from us- I'll call the police!"

The approaching black woman held up a hand in appeasement. Jake felt his bones grind together as the stranger hugged him even tighter, then he was grabbed by the biceps and pushed back, arm's distance away. Jake was uncomfortable under the stranger's scrutiny and he looked away, just in time to see Bear practically fall through a half-open window. The dog shook itself off and immediately started trotting towards them.

"You don't look sick or injured," the stranger said, his eyes narrowing. "So I'd say you owe me one Hell of an explanation."

Jake was more confused than frightened, although his muscles were taught and ready for action. What was going on? He didn't owe this guy anything- he didn't even know him. Did he? His head was pounding again. There was something undeniably familiar about the guy before him, and the unexplainable pull made him even more apprehensive. Jake met the stranger's gaze and held it. "Who are you?"

The stranger's smile vanished.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Your reviews make me so happy... Every single one means a lot to me. Thank you, guys. I love hearing your speculations.

See Dis in Chapter One

* * *

_'In a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else  
There's a piece of a puzzle known as life  
Wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight'_

_-'45', Shinedown_

Dean stared at him. Of all the reactions he'd been expecting, this was not one of them. "What do you mean, who am I?" he said, letting his hands fall from Sam's shoulders. "I'm Dean, you're awesome and incredibly handsome big brother." The words were heavy on his tongue.

Sam shook his head slowly, his expression painfully blank. "I've never seen you before…"

No… he couldn't believe this. Dean stamped his foot. "I know sometimes you _wish_ you'd never seen me," he stated, searching Sam's face. When those empty green eyes continued staring back at him, he swallowed and smiled weakly. "Come on, Sam, cut the crap." His heart was hammering in his chest. Sam was joking, right?

"You're not taking him anywhere," a woman said, and for the first time, Dean noticed the middle-aged woman. She was holding a large, panting Golden Retriever by the collar, as if trying to give the impression that the tail-wagging dog was about to attack. "Who are you people?"

"Like Hell I'm not," Dean shot back as Missouri approached from behind. "And just who the hell are you, and what have you done to my brother?"

"Dean," she said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Just calm down-"

"Calm down?" Dean gasped., ducking out of her reach. "You said he was fine! Look at him!" He swung a hand towards Sam. "He doesn't know who I am! I'd call that pretty far from _fine_!"

"I said he was _safe_," Missouri corrected. "Ms. Silvey has done a fine job of watching after Sam," she said, glancing at the woman inching her way towards Sam. "You owe her your gratitude."

Dean snorted but held his tongue. Like hell he owed this woman- she could be keeping Sam here against his will for all he knew. She could even be a witch, and Sam was under some sort of spell-

"How do you know my name?" Ms. Silvey interrupted, her voice high with fear. "Who are you? How did you find us? And what do you want with Jake?"

Missouri stepped forward, reaching for the woman but she stepped out of reach. Missouri let her hand fall. "My name is Missouri, I talked to you on the phone yesterday. This is Dean Winchester." She looked at Sam. "These boys are brothers."

There was a pause and Dean waved a hand. He had no interest in formalities at the moment. He just wanted to grab Sam and get far away from here. He could figure out what had happened when they were safely inside the Impala, just the two of them.

"Is there a place where we can talk?" Missouri asked.

Ms. Silvey looked skeptical. The dog whined and shifted its weight.

"I promise you, we're not here to hurt anyone," Missouri said. "But these two boys are brothers and it's time we reunited them."

"No offense, ma'am, but I didn't live to be as old as I am by trusting stranger's promises."

Dean looked at Sam once more and their gazes locked. Ms. Silvey still had one hand on the dog's collar as she stared at the back of Sam's head, then turned a glare to Dean. He recognized the look- she wanted to protect Sam. Dean bristled. That was _his_ job- one that he'd been denied for far too long.

He wanted his brother back.

"Please," he said, pleading and demanding at the same time. He looked at Sam. "I just want to talk to you."

Sam looked between them all before finally nodding. "Yeah, okay."

"Fine," Ms. Silvey relented at last. "We can talk in the kitchen."

Dean watched with resentment as she released the dog, which promptly laid down in the shade, and entered the house. Her body language was tense- she clearly was uncomfortable with the proceedings. Dean understood, but at the moment, he didn't care. As he moved to the stairs, Missouri joined him. "I know this is hard for you," she said gently, "But we'll get Sam back. Just have patience."

They walked up the steps. "He's my brother. I shouldn't have to get him _back_." They stopped before the screen door. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Missouri shook her head. "I expect we'll find out. Ms. Silvey is a nice person, Dean. I can sense it."

Dean forced his temper to settle. He nodded once, glancing in the house. Sam was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table and Ms. Silvey was filling glasses with ice cubes. The phone was placed at the corner of the table, within easy reach. He looked back at Missouri and nodded again, this time more sincere. If this woman truly had kept Sam safe, then he was in her debt.

Missouri smiled. "Come on, child. It's getting hot out here."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and Dean allowed himself to be pushed through the door and into the large house. It was airy and bright and the sun shone brilliantly off hardwood and linoleum floors. To his right, a steep staircase led upwards and out of sight, presumably to the bedrooms. Through the kitchen he could see the living room, loosely coordinated in a comfortable, homey way. Silver-framed pictures littered the bookshelves, save for one which was on display next to the staircase. The carpet was dark and thick and a large area rug was laid out in the center of the room.

"Have a seat," Ms. Silvey said coldly but politely, patting the back of the chair in front of her. She turned and returned the pitcher to the refrigerator.

Dean obeyed, letting his hunter instincts guide his survey of the room. A large window was placed over the sink and sunlight streamed in, eliminating the need for electricity at this hour. The cupboards were made of a polished light wood and various cookie jars and other knick knacks were placed strategically over the counters. There was even a dog bed in the corner, and next to it, a painted bowl that read 'Bear'. Dean rolled his eyes. So Sam had finally found his apple-pie life.

Too bad Dean hadn't been part of it.

"I hope you like lemonade," Ms. Silvey said as she joined the brothers and Missouri at the table. "I made it this morning."

Missouri was the fist to speak. "It's wonderful, Ms. Silvey. Thank you."

Dean's leg bounced.

The air was still charged, but Linda appeared to be trusting them quickly. "Call me Linda. All the other guests do."

Dean was getting impatient. He fidgeted and looked at Sam, willing the younger Winchester to meet his gaze.

Missouri shot him a stern look, then looked back to Linda. "I suppose we should tell you why we're here," she said.

"That would be helpful," Linda replied and she sat back in her chair, leveling an assessing gaze at Missouri and Dean.

"Sam's my brother," Dean blurted, desperate for Sam to just _look_ at him. The outburst had the desired effect but now Dean was pinned beneath a haunted gaze. "He went missing, and I want him back."

"Tell me about the night Sam came to you," Missouri asked gently, the request effectively casting Dean out of the conversation.

Suddenly a different kind of fear settled over Linda, and shaken, she took a small sip of lemonade. Her hands and face were pale as she set the glass on the table, spinning it slowly between her hands. "It was raining," she started slowly, glancing at Sam. "Jake… _Sam_ showed up on my doorstep. He was bleeding and petrified."

Dean tensed, looking over Sam for any recent wounds.

"Petrified of what?" Missouri prompted.

Linda took a deep breath. "He said something was after him, chasing him."

Both Missouri and Dean stiffened.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Linda said, shaking her head as she forced a laugh.

"No," Dean interrupted. "I'm listening. Keep talking."

Linda gave him a strange look, beginning again more hesitantly. "There was something… big," she continued. "It had claws. It tried to break through the door."

Dean glanced and the unmarked front door.

"I had it replaced," Linda said. "It was ruined."

"It didn't get in?" Dean asked.

"It just… stopped," she shrugged. "It went away."

There was a moment of silent and Dean pondered the story.

"It was a black cat. A big one."

The soft words stopped Dean's calculating thoughts. God, he had missed his brother's voice. "A cat? Like what, a panther?" Dean glanced at Linda, but she looked confused, as if she were hearing this information for the first time. He stared at Sam. "You saw it?"

Sam was hunched over in his chair, looking very small. "That night I did. I… I was running away from it." He took a breath, then, "I don't think it was a normal animal."

"Not normal how?" Where they dealing with a Black Dog mutation? Those were easy enough to dispose of…

"There are no black panthers in Georgia. Only cougars, and they are tan. And they almost never attack humans…" Linda interrupted- somehow politely. She was twirling her necklace around her fingers as she spoke.

Dean continued to look at Sam, ignoring Linda's sudden wellspring of information. "Not normal how?" he asked again.

Sam shrugged. "It was quick- I could hardly see it moving. Its eyes were red… like they were glowing red, but that could have been a weird reflection from the moon, right?"

This was sounding more and more like a simple Black Dog- which boosted his confidence. He'd blow the thing's head off and then he and Sam could leave this place. Dean looked to Linda. "Did you see it?"

Linda shook her head and took another sip of lemonade. "No. It just disappeared. Look- I don't see what this has to do with-"

"What else?" Dean asked.

"There was fire," Sam said, staring blankly at the tablecloth.

"Fire?" It didn't make sense. Animals didn't usually have power over flames…

Sam glanced at the door, his eyes losing focus as if he were remembering that night. "Just before it left- there were flames."

Dean looked at Missouri. He sincerely hoped that the presence of fire didn't mean things just got a whole lot more complicated. He'd consult with the psychic later- when they weren't in the company of an innocent woman and his amnesic brother.

He switched topics. "What about Sam? What happened to him?"

Linda smiled and reached out to hold one of Sam's hands. He glanced at her, but his gaze quickly returned to the tablecloth. "He was hurt and confused- but ready to protect me," she said. "He's a brave young man."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sam always had that affect on people. "You said he was injured."

Linda's eyes darkened. "He looked like someone had roughed him over then left him for dead." The words were full of anger. "He had a concussion, not to mention the bruises and cuts. He was nearly hypothermic before I got him warmed up."

"You didn't go to the hospital?"

"He wouldn't let me-"

Dean's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "He wouldn't _let_ you? You just said he was a walking icicle!" He forgot that Linda didn't have the strength to simply carry Sam over his shoulder in a fireman's hold to the nearest hospital.

"I begged her not to."

"Why, Sam?"

"It…" Sam started, dropping his gaze then visibly forcing himself to look at Dean, "It wasn't safe."

Linda squeezed his hand gently and Sam's shoulders lowered a fraction. "I had a doctor come to the house," she said. "We're not _completely_ cut off from civilization. Doc Stevens looked J- Sam over and did some tests. He said the memories would return with time, and that in the meantime, Sam should let his body rest. There's a prescription to help with the headaches-"

"Headaches?"

Sam shrugged. "I get them a lot. The pills work, though."

"When he remembers to take them," Linda chided.

Dean felt a little better knowing that Sam had at least seen a doctor. "So the amnesia- how'd he get it?"

Sam reached up, gently touching his fingertips to his temple. "I was hit on the head."

Linda shook her head. "The doc agrees- there was no doubt about it. Jake- Sam was hit pretty hard, it's what caused the amnesia. We just don't know _how_ he was hit."

"Sam," Missouri broke in. "You said you didn't leave because you didn't feel safe…"

Sam nodded.

"What wasn't safe?" Dean asked, using his voice to recapture Sam's attention. "Was the thing that chased you still out there?"

Sam looked to the window and his face darkened despite the bright sunlight that filled the room. "It never left. It's out there even now, waiting."

"For what?"

"For me."

Silence hung over the kitchen as Linda raised a hand to her face, concealing her open mouth. Dean looked to Missouri. "Can you feel it too?" he asked. His heart was beating faster with the understanding that Sam was under threat. "Is there something here?" If the thing stayed, it meant that Sam was a target. It meant that the thing could think… and had patience.

"I think we better talk about this someplace-"

"No," Linda interrupted. "Please. I may not have known 'Sam' very long, but I've seen his soul. He's got a good heart, and if he's in trouble, I want to help. I can't explain it, but he's almost like a son to me. Please- let me help."

"Listen lady, I know he's got the lost puppy thing going for him, but I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into here…"

"I'm not afraid."

"Maybe you should be."

"Dean," Sam spoke up, the name still painfully void of endearment, "This is her home. Doesn't she have a right to know what's going on?"

"Not if knowing would get her hurt or killed!"

Dean was left panting lightly, staring at the shell of his little brother. Linda seemed to shrink away from the table, a wary expression on her face. "Exactly who are you people?" she asked cautiously. Her hand moved towards the phone.

It was Missouri's turn to speak up. "Perhaps I can answer that while the boys get reacquainted with one another."

_'Thank you_.' Dean pushed his chair back and stood up. "Come on Sammy," he said, grabbing Sam's shoulder lightly. "Let's you and me have a little talk. You can show me around."

Sam pulled away.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Linda started.

"No," Sam said. "I'll be fine. We'll be right outside." He looked between Missouri and Dean with a coldness Dean didn't recognize, like Sam was sizing them up. Trying to intimidate them. "We won't go far," he added.

Dean's heart twisted at the way Sam was acting. He tried to place himself in Sam's shoes, knowing it must be hard having two strangers show up on your doorstep, trying to convince you that you were someone totally different than who you thought. Dean willed himself to have patience. "We'll stay within yelling range," he agreed.

With empty eyes, Sam nodded briefly then stood, standing face to face with Dean. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes**: I am humbled by all your support, even as I reread and find stupid spelling mistakes. Thanks for putting up with me.

See Dis in Chapter One

* * *

Dean let Sam lead the way. He had to admit, Sam appeared to be healthy. There were no visible bruises or wounds, and Sam didn't walk with a limp or even seem completely out of character. If anything, he had gotten a tan and some muscle mass. Dean's opinion of Linda climbed another notch despite the terms they were parting on.

They stepped out the backdoor and into the sunlight. While his hair was still shaggy in a way that the girls found sexy, Sam's hair had lightened a fraction, shinning a sort of copper in the afternoon light. His hair, his appearance- these were all superficial changes. Dean knew that the real damage was underneath, and fixing it would require the all skill and patience of people who truly cared. And in their fractured, tiny world, there weren't too many of those people.

"So this is pretty much it," Sam said, gesturing to the house behind them. "Linda's had this place for twenty years. She usually hires help for the warm seasons, when there's more business. There's a lot of chores to do around here-"

Dean ignored the house. Sam was alive, after all this time while Dean had been trying to convince himself that Sam _wasn't_ dead. Here he was, his little brother, his flesh and blood, and Dean had to be sure. He stepped forward and grabbed Sam, pulling him into a tight hug, feeling the solidness between his hands and against his chest.

"What are you doing?" Sam yelped, jumping backwards.

Dean stood still, hands up in surrender. "Sorry," he breathed. The barbed wire around his heart had cinched even tighter. He wanted nothing more than to feel Sam, to prove he was alive and whole after a two-week absence, but Dean couldn't even touch him. To Sam, Dean was a stranger. Dean could hardly remember a time when he hadn't been a big brother. It was all he knew how to be- and now, Sam wouldn't even let him be that.

It was a cold, empty feeling, and Dean hated it.

He pulled himself together, wiping at his eyes before the tears fell. "Do you have any idea how scared shitless I've been?"

Sam seemed to sober, holding up a hand. "I don't know what to… I'm sorry. I just… I don't know you, okay? You have to understand how weird this is for me."

Dean breathed deeply, raising one corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin. "Yeah," he sighed, shrugging one shoulder. "It's definitely 'weird'. I'm just glad you're safe. The doctor said you'll remember everything eventually, right?"

"Yeah. He didn't know how long it'd take. I guess it depends on the person, or the injury."

It didn't matter. Dean would wait until the end of time. "What do you say I help you then, huh?" He smiled, nudging Sam with his elbow.

Sam returned the smile- the biggest one Dean had seen so far- and glanced at the Impala. "That your car?"

"Hell yeah it's my car."

"I like it."

Dean steered them towards the car, shoes crunching softly on the gravel driveway. "That's because you have good taste in cars, little brother. That's one thing you and Dad could always agree on."

"Where is he?"

"Dad?" Dean tried to remain cheerful. It was an answer he'd like to hear himself. "He's working." He pulled open the passenger door, urging Sam to sit down. "We don't really see him a lot anymore."

Dean crossed around the Impala's hood and took his seat behind the steering wheel. They closed the doors and rolled down the windows, simply sitting in the silence as a warm breeze blew through the car. Sam ran his hand over the dashboard, his eyes narrowed as he took in every detail. "Did he give you this car?" he asked, his fingers moving to the dials of the radio.

"Kinda," Dean replied. "I found an ad for it in the paper, but the transmission was all shot to hell. I got it for a fifteen hundred dollars and me and Dad fixed it up. Best investment I ever made." He patted the dashboard, then realized Sam wouldn't get the joke. "Only investment I ever made, but still…"

"So you guys are mechanics?"

Dean chuckled. "No way. I know my way around engines, sure… Dad co-owned a shop in Kansas- where we used to live. He drug us down there when we were little, made us clean up and stuff like that. Then after he gave up the shop, fixing cars was just a hobby. We'd spend whole Saturdays on the driveway, car parts scattered all over the front yard, eating doughnuts and getting bloody knuckles…"

Dean trailed off, suddenly finding his throat tight from the memories he thought he'd forgotten. He said once that if he ever had to live a 'normal, cookie-cutter life', he'd shoot himself. But he'd forgotten how wonderful it'd been while he was living it. Before he was old enough to stand the kick of a shotgun, before he could launch an arrow at a moving target two hundred feet away and score a bulls-eye. He sniffed, blaming it on the pollen of the nearby honeysuckle, and blinked away the memories. Dean turned to Sam, who was watching him intently.

"Sounds nice," Sam said, shifting slighting in the leather seat. "Sounds like a happy family."

Dean smiled. "We had our moments." He propped an elbow on the window sill and shielded his eyes from the sun.

"What about Mom, what does she do?"

_'Oh, Sammy_.' Dean closed his eyes briefly, gathering strength. "She's uh-" he started, clearing his throat. "She died when you were a baby."

Hurt flickered across Sam's face, followed closely by… confusion? "Oh." He said calmly, keeping his eyes down. "How?"

_Fuck_. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was uh… a fire." He couldn't lie, but he doubted Sam was ready for the whole truth. "It was in your nursery."

Sam looked up. "She died trying to save me?"

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? But the only one who knew the answer was the demon who did it, and they were no closer to it now then they had been 25 years ago. Fortunately, John Winchester was nothing if not tenacious, and Dean had no doubt that one day, vengeance would be theirs. That fucker of a baddie would pay with its life.

Sam must have taken the silence for an affirmative answer. "So who got me out?" he asked, looking up at Dean. "Dad?"

"Dad gave you to me and I got you out of the house."

"Oh." Sam offered a small smile. "Well, thanks."

"Anytime, bro." _Anytime._

Sam's smile fell. "Dad must have been a mess. I mean, they loved each other, right?"

"Yeah, he was pretty shaken up." Just call him Dean, the King of Understatements.

"Did he ever remarry?"

"Only to his job."

"Oh." Sam seemed disappointed. "What about you?"

Dean laughed out loud. "Me, married? Yeah right!"

Sam laughed as well, but it was quiet and tentative, as if weren't sure if the joke was really supposed to be funny. Then, "Am I?"

"Married? Nope, sorry Sam. We're two of the world's unluckiest bachelors."

Dean was still chuckling when Sam asked, "Who's Jessica?"

Silence fell over the car. Outside, leaves rustled in the wind. "How did you-"

"I have dreams," Sam said, picking at a seam in the leather beneath him. "I never knew what they were about. I mean, I figured they might be memories, but I didn't know for sure. Sometimes I get… 'visions' during the day, but they always give me a headache. It's weird, I know. I don't know why I'm telling you-"

"No, I understand," Dean said. "That's why you have the pills, for the headaches?"

Sam nodded. "So do you know who she is?"

Dean's stomach tightened. "She was your girlfriend."

Sam's hand stilled. "She's… dead… too, isn't she?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah buddy, she's dead too."

Sam rubbed his temple. "A fire killed her too, didn't it."

"Yeah."

Sam blinked and took a breath, seeming to digest the information. He looked outside, away from Dean. "That was in my room too, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't have the heart to elaborate- besides, Sam had probably seen it all in his head.

There was a beat of silence, then softly, "I don't think I wanna be me."

For once in his life, Dean didn't know what to say.

"Dean? Can I ask you something?"

They'd already covered all the painful topics, hadn't they? "Yeah, sure." The pain in his throat surprised him and he swallowed.

"There was another… what happened at Lake Manitoc?"

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he searched his memories. He and Sam had rid the town of a water spirit that had been claiming lives out of revenge for his murder. It was years ago. "You remember that?" If Sam remembered a random moment from an old hunt, maybe it wouldn't be long before he remembered _Dean_.

"I think so," Sam replied. "I had this… flashback. My head started killing me and next thing I knew, this scene played out in my mind. I think we were at a restaurant, talking about Dad. You said were would kill anything that got in our way." Haunted eyes turned to Dean. "Do we kill people?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue that no, they didn't really kill _people_- at least not living people, unless they were dabbling in the evil witchcraft business- but suddenly a large, long-haired dog slapped its front paws on the door panel and stood on its hind legs, panting happily in Dean's face.

"What the hell?" Dean jumped, backing away from the long, graying muzzle and hot, tepid breath.

Sam got out of the car. "Bear, get down!" he ordered, rounding the hood and grabbing the dog's collar. "Sorry," he said to Dean as the dog hit the ground with a jingle of tags. "He loves people."

"What's a Bear?" Dean asked warily as he opened the driver's side door. The dog sat wagging its tail, watching him with squinted amber eyes.

"Don't worry, he's harmless," Sam said, scratching the dog's head. "He's Linda's dog. Good for nothing, really, except chasing off the wildlife and getting hair all over the place."

The dog got up then, and Dean could almost hear the old animal's bones cracking. It hobbled to the porch, hopped up the steps slowly, then stood at the door and started scratching. He wouldn't admit it, but Dean had always liked dogs and enjoyed playing with them as a kid. But even as a child, he understood why they couldn't have one of their own and had never asked for one. His family simply didn't have the time nor the money to care for a fourth member, not with their lifestyle. Dean was okay with it- in a lot of ways, having a kid brother was even better than having a dog.

At least Sam made less noise.

Most of the time.

Dean laughed to himself, then noticed Sam was standing motionless, one hand on the car door and the other hanging limply at his side. He was facing the tree line, eyes wide, barely breathing.

"Sam?" Dean said, stepping next to his brother. "You okay?"

"It's out there," Sam replied softly, his lips barely parting. "I can hear it sometimes, at night. It's watching. Waiting."

"The panther thing?"

"I don't think it's _really_ a panther- that was just a disguise or something… but I can feel it. It's dark, powerful. I get this feeling, like something bad is going to happen."

"Guess that means your Spidey-senses still work," Dean murmured, searching the thick forest for any signs of evil.

"My what?"

"Nothing." Dean couldn't find anything out of place, so he let himself relax. "How long have you felt like this?"

"Since I got here," Sam replied, at last shutting the shed door. "Whatever's out there, it chased me. It's been out here, waiting, ever since."

Dean knew he needed to talk to Missouri, as soon as possible. She'd know better what they were dealing with, why it wanted Sam, and how to stop it. "Wait-" started Dean, his mind skipping tracks, "So that's why you wouldn't let Linda take you to the hospital?"

Sam looked embarrassed but his tone was defensive. "It's powerful! Nothing lives in those woods- the birds fly over the trees, but they don't land in them. The deer stay to the fields. Whatever is in those woods is evil."

"So you were scared."

Sam remained silent. He looked to be on the verge of tears and Dean couldn't stand that hurt look on his brother. He wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around Sam, but he knew that doing so would only result in conflict. "It's okay," Dean said quietly, forcing himself to settle for just standing next to Sam. Funny how all his life, Sam was the touchy-feely one, and now, Dean would trade his soul for a quick hug. "I'm here now, and we're gonna kick that thing's ass, okay?"

Sam's voice was soft. "How?"

Dean shifted his weight. "I don't know yet, buddy. But as your big brother, I promise, I'll get you out of here." He relaxed a little and added, "I'll get us both out of here. I hate Georgia. It's too damn hot." He smacked a mosquito.

He felt Sam chuckle against his shoulder. The screen door opened and Dean turned in time to see the dog trot inside. "Boys!" Missouri called from the doorway, "Come on in here and get some homemade apple pie!"

Dean looked accusingly at Sam. "You've been holding out on me."

Sam smiled brightly as he ducked his head, and Dean realized just how much he had missed those dimples.

He steered them towards the porch and continued, "I bet you're making up all that stuff about a monster in the woods. You really just wanna stay here and eat her country cooking- is that right?"

Sam shook his head, still sporting a goofy grin. "She is a good cook…"

Dean stepped onto the porch, his kid brother flanking him and his pride soaring. He had always been the only one with the power to make Sammy smile, no matter the circumstances. If Sam had fallen off his bike and scraped his knees, Dean had the power to make him laugh about it. If Sam had come home with a less-than-average grade on his report card, Dean convinced him that next time would be better. And when Sam had watched his girlfriend burn on the ceiling above him, Dean had been there as well, pulling Sam from the fire for a second time.

And it felt pretty damn good to simply _be there_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes**: I'm particularly proud of this chapter, lemme know what you think.

Thanks for your support!

Emily

* * *

"I'll hand it to you Sam- you always did know how to run away in style," Dean said after dinner, patting his stomach in an exaggerated show. "Dad and I never needed to worry about you starving to death." 

Sam looked at Dean as Linda reached in front of him to clear away the dishes. "I ran away a lot?"

A laugh bubbled out of Dean. "You went through a phase. You know, the rebellious, 'I'm-growing-my-hair-long-and-won't-take-your-orders-anymore' phase." Dean watched as Sam glanced up at his overgrown bangs and added, "Actually, it wasn't so much a 'phase' as it was a 'decision'."

Missouri chuckled from her place beside Linda at the suds-filled sink. "You Winchesters are known for your 'decisions'. You're the most stubborn group of boys I know."

"How do you know us?" Sam asked innocently, watching the black woman with interest.

"I'm a friend of your daddy's," she replied, accepting a dripping white plate from Linda and covering it with a hand towel. "He came to me for help a long time ago, back when you were just a babe and Dean was a knobby-kneed toddler."

Dean snorted and glared. Really, what relevance does his 5 year-old appearance have in this story?

"What did he need help with?"

Dean winced. How do you explain your career of hunting the supernatural to your amnesiac brother? Dean hadn't mentioned it directly… he didn't want to push and he just assumed that deep inside himself, Sam knew. He knew about their mother, about Jessica- about what really killed them. But maybe Dean was wrong. It's not like he had introduced himself as Dean Winchester, Ghost Hunter Extraordinaire. And by the way Sam, you're my nerdy geek-boy sidekick.

Missouri cast a quick backwards glance over her shoulder. "Help with finding your mother's killer."

At that, Linda stiffened, her back still facing Dean.

Sam's eyebrows dipped in confusion. "Dean said she died in a fire."

Oh, shit. Yup, he was wrong. "Uh," Dean cleared his throat, getting Sam's attention away from Missouri. "Look, Sam… maybe we can go for a walk or something, and I can explain every-"

Sam pushed away from the table, the wooden chair legs scraping over the linoleum. Bear raised his head, watching intently from his oversized pillow in the corner. "No," he said, stepping away from the table, holding up a hand. "Not until you tell me what's going on. How'd Mom really die? Is she even dead, or is that a lie too?"

"Yes she's really dead," Dean said, standing as well. He glanced at Linda, who was facing him now and inching her way towards Sam. "Look, it's a little hard to explain right now, I-"

Sam and Linda looked at each other. "Why?" Sam asked, moving to stand beside Linda. "What ever you have to say, you can tell it to both of us."

What? "Would you listen to yourself, Sam?" Dean said, one hand coming up in exasperation. "You've only known this woman for a couple _weeks_!" Linda flinched, but Dean couldn't bring himself to feel remorseful for the harsh words. "You've known me your whole _life_! Why can't you just trust me?"

"Dean," Missouri warned softly.

"Because I can't _remember_!" Sam exclaimed, his volume matching Dean's. "I don't remember anything about you, or Dad, or Mom- and what you _did_ tell me was a lie!" Linda's hand went to Sam's elbow but he appeared oblivious. "Is anything you told me true? The story about the car… about the fire? Is my name really Sam? What exactly do we _do_, Dean?"

"Damnit, listen to me," Dean said, taking a step towards Sam. The room was growing hot; anger and determination swirled in his gut, tensing every muscle in his body. He was _this_ close to getting his brother back- he would _not_ lose him to a misunderstanding. "Dad's job- _our_ job… it's trying to find and kill the thing that killed Mom in a fire 24 years ago."

Sam's mouth was open when he blinked and cocked his head. "Wait- what do you mean, _thing_?"

"Dean," Missouri interrupted again, "Now may not be the best time-"

Dean ignored her. Prompting amnesia victims were suppose to help them remember, right? That's how it worked on the movies. "I mean it was a demon, Sam. We don't exactly know which one. Dad's been researching it and hunting it since it took her and he's only ever gotten close. We don't know how to-"

"A demon?" Sam asked, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. "A demon killed my mother."

Dean recognized that look- it was the look people gave them right before they were laughed out of a poltergeist-infested house by people who didn't believe in poltergeists. But that look on Sam… it hurt deeply. Sam was one of two people who knew what it was like losing a mother to something that shouldn't even exist. Sam had never laughed at the supernatural. Unearthly beings were _real_… and they killed people.

He felt anger well up inside him. "Don't you dare," he growled, pointing a finger at Sam's chest. "You don't get to choose what you believe. You don't get to throw away a piece of you just because you don't like it." As he advanced, Linda's grip on his brother tightened. "You want the truth? Fine. Here's the truth." He felt Missouri behind him but ignored her. "When you were six months old, our Mom burned to death on the ceiling above your crib. Dad turned into an ex-marine-gone-ghost-buster, and I became his soldier. Dad read us Latin protection spells for bedtime stories. We weren't allowed to get out of bed at night because we might break the circle of salt that surrounded our beds. We had dream catchers in every window. The Holy water was on the top shelf of the refrigerator so we couldn't reach it and drink it accidentally."

"Dean."

He ignored her. His heart was pounding and memories flashed through his head as he narrated. "When you were five, I was making you macaroni and cheese while Dad spent the night hunting ghosts. When you were nine, Dad gave you a .45 to fend off the monsters that shouldn't be in your closet. When you were eleven, you could disassemble, reassemble, clean, load and shoot 9 different types of firearms." Dean took a deep breath, welcoming the burn in his lungs. He was spiraling out of control but couldn't stop it. He ignored the hurt look on Sam's face and plowed on, "When you were 15, you killed your forth werewolf. When you were 19, you thought you could escape this life-" Dean paused, suddenly tired and sad at this particular memory, "…And when you were 23, you found out that it was impossible."

Sam was looking at him with large, wet doe-eyes and Dean was sorry. Sorry for the outburst, sorry for losing his patience, sorry for forcing Sam into this life once again. He felt Missouri pull on his shirt, gently urging for him to come outside with her. He looked at Sam once more, feeling like he'd just kicked a new, soft, cuddly puppy in its gut. He couldn't bear it- so he turned and followed Missouri on numb legs, the sound of retreat the only noise breaking the tension that hung over the kitchen.

The screen door slammed behind him.

He had seriously fucked up.

An open palm smacked him on the back of the skull, causing him to flinch. "Don't you cuss like that around me! What's the matter with you, boy?" Missouri chided, giving Dean a hands-on-hips look of reprimand. "Can't you take a hint? Next time, you listen to me when I'm saying your name!"

"I'm an idiot," Dean said, dejection tightening his throat as he stepped off the porch. He needed to walk- to figure things out and cool off. He didn't need a psychic- a motherly one at that- poking through his thoughts.

She smiled. "Ah, but you're an idiot with good intentions," Missouri corrected.

Dean snorted. What good where intentions when he was trying to piece his family back together?

"Hey," Missouri said gently, firmly. "He'll get through this. Trust me. Everything will work out in time."

A cricket paused its chirping as they walked past the shed where it must have been hiding. The sun was just starting to nestle into the horizon and the landscape was stained a soft, lemonade pink. Lightening bugs floated in the air under a large oak tree, flashing in a slow, steady rhythm. Dean sighed, breathing in the flower-scented air and tried to relax. "He told me he had a flash back- said his head hurt before it happened. Has he talked to you? Have you gotten a 'read' on him?"

"A flash back?" Missouri turned a concerned gaze on him. "When?"

"I don't know- before we got here. It kinda sounded like he had a vision."

"He could have. He's very confused. He wants to believe, but more than that, he wants the truth."

"I thought I was protecting him."

"You can't protect someone from who they are," Missouri said. "You know that. He's frightened. He doesn't understand what's happening, or what _has_ happened. The only safety he knows right now is Linda. We should be thankful he has her."

"Well now he has _me_," Dean replied. "I'm his big brother- I'm the one who looks out for him. He should come to me." It made him sick to think Sam could forget him so completely, that 24 years of trust and love could be gone in the blink of an eye. It wasn't fair.

Missouri laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "His memories are there, buried inside. He's not forgotten you, Dean. You have to understand what he's going through, all the memories he's got inside his head that don't make any sense… He wants to trust you, I can see that. But he's confused. Lost."

Dean stopped walking and turned to face her. The house was some distance behind them now, glowing like a beacon as the sun continued to set. He did understand- well, not completely. But he could imagine the constant state of confusion Sam must be in, the toll it must be taking on his brother. This was one of those times were he missed his mother desperately. He wanted someone to tell him it would all be okay- to wave a magic wand and make everything go back to normal. He couldn't fix Sammy by himself. He didn't know how.

"Oh child… come here." Missouri reached out and pulled Dean against her. "Stay strong. We'll get him back, I promise you. Just have patience."

Dean let himself be held for a moment, taking comfort in the foreign gesture. After Mom died, Dad was not real big on the touchy-feely emotional stuff. If the boys were bleeding, John told them to suck it up, focus on something else. If they missed their mother, John told them to hit the gym or the shooting range. If they were hungry, he microwaved a frozen dinner or ordered fast food. If they were sick, they were dosed regularly with over-the-counter cough syrup. And if they were tired of hunting, John kicked them out of the house.

They'd always had each other, though… but the late night cuddling and sleeping in the same bed stopped years ago, once Dean had hit puberty. Now, the only time they shared a bed was when money was tight, and they most certainly never, _ever_ cuddled.

Dean pulled away, sniffing to clear the stinging from his nostrils. "You know I hate these chick-flick moments, right?" He swatted an insect that landed on his forearm. "I also hate Georgia."

"I won't tell anyone." Missouri winked at him, then turned and surveyed the scenery with a frown.

Dean followed her gaze, surprised to find that they were so close to Sam's Forrest of Evil. A shiver ran through him. "What is it?"

"I can feel Sam," Missouri started, turning completely to face the dark trees. "I feel his pain… his fear."

Dean glanced to the house behind him. "But Sam's inside-"

"It's residual," she explained, closing her eyes, a crease between her eyebrows. "His emotions were so strong then, when it happened… he's left a signature here." She took a step closer to the tree line. The crickets stopped chirping. "There's also a great evil nearby. It roams this forest… hungry, and impatient."

Dean swallowed as his heart quickened. "The thing that went after Sam?"

Missouri looked at him. "The thing that very nearly took Sam."

Dean searched the shadows for any sign of movement. The sky was orange and purple now, but the trees remained colorless. In fact, even in the light of day, Dean remembered them to be black. Sam's words cam back to him/ _'Nothing lives in those woods- the birds fly over the trees, but they don't land in them. The deer stay to the fields. Whatever is in those woods is evil.'_ /

Dean stepped beside Missouri. "Can you tell what it is?" he asked. "Jersey Devil… Black Dog… ghost…" If he knew what kind of creature they were facing, he could prepare himself- arm himself- and destroy it. He was a man of action, after all. He glanced at the Impala, wishing he had a gun in his hands.

"It's a lot more powerful than those things," Missouri said, her voice confident. "Whatever is out there is pure evil. It's not going to be defeated without a fight, you can be sure of that. It's smart..." Missouri trailed off, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the tree line. "It's on the move," she said quietly, and Dean followed her gaze.

Missouri gasped half a second before Dean saw the faint movement of black on black. The shadows slid over one another and the tall, wispy figure of a cloaked human being appeared, then faded back into the night as quickly as it has materialized.

Everything happened so fast- Dean still wasn't even sure the image had been real before Missouri grabbed his elbow and tugged, hard. "It's coming- run!"

And then he was, turning on his heel and nearly tripping over his own feet as the shadows slid against one another again. He'd never seen anything move so gracefully- so quickly and silently and _smoothly_… A foreign feeling of fear numbed his legs as his feet pounded over the ground. Missouri had let go of him and he was easily overtaking her- but he forced himself to slow down stay behind, putting himself between Missouri and the monster behind them. Adrenaline flooded his veins and his heart felt swollen as it throbbed in his chest.

Dean risked a glance behind him. The tall silhouette collapsed in a puff of black smoke. In its place, a large black panther took up the chase- claws extended and piercing the ground to give the animal leverage and speed. Its red eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

Shit.

"Run!" Dean yelled, urging Missouri faster as he placed his hand on her back. They were almost to the house- but they weren't moving fast enough. Missouri was heavier- she couldn't move like Dean. Her knees were bad and she hobbled. She had the build of a wonderful, kind-hearted mother… and right now, it was a curse that would see them killed.

A flash of gold almost sent Dean stumbling. Bear appeared, his tail held high and rigid as he lowered his head, displaying a row of yellowed, crooked teeth. The dog stood firm, staring at the demon with fire in his clouded eyes.

"Go!" Dean shouted, pushing Missouri towards the house. She continued hobbling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Dean turned to face the demon as the dog barked and leapt forward.

Light met darkness as the dog collided with the demon. Dean searched the ground for a weapon as snarls and the sound of snapping teeth filled the air. He found a large tree branch a few feet away and ran for it, unable to turn away from the promise of a fight. He just had to stall the demon long enough for Missouri to get help-

A screech filled the air, tearing at Dean's eardrums and he flinched. He grabbed the stick just as the dog yelped. Silence hung heavily in the darkness and Dean turned, panting, and looked into the demon's hungry eyes. The dog lay in a heap some distance away, unmoving.

Before he could use his better judgment, Dean swung the branch at the demon, the length of it swiping through the cat-like head without any resistance. The smell of sulfur clung to the branch as wisps of black smoke curled in the air.

The demon's lips peeled back, revealing a set of threatening fangs.

Dean dropped his make-shift bat and ran.

"Get back!" he yelled, seeing the Missouri standing in front of Linda. Sam was nowhere to be seen. He sprinted towards the women and was almost to the first step when Missouri screamed a warning.

Pain exploded in his ankle as a single silver claw swiped at him, snagging his jeans and slicing through skin. He fell, his face bouncing off the ground upon impact, and instantly, the shadow was on top of him. His brain was reverberating against his skull and everything was blurry- but with the righting reflex of a cat, he flipped over on to his back, suddenly looking straight into the glowing eyes of the demon above him.

His death reflected back at him and he froze.

"Dean!" Missouri cried from the porch. Her voice was muted as Dean's heartbeat pounded his eardrums.

He couldn't move- the massive ghost-animal had him pinned to the ground. The thing had no specific features; it was a panther-like shape that had been cut into the fabric of time- a panther-shaped black hole. Its hot breath moistened Dean's face as it blinked, black eyelids sliding shut over the fiery coals in its eye sockets.

And suddenly Dean knew he was going to die.

Fear twisted and froze in his gut. He stopped breathing. The animal's lips wrinkled as it exposed a row of teeth, framed by long, sharp canine teeth in all corners of its mouth. Saliva and small bubbles clung to the animal's fangs, making them sparkle in the near-darkness. A low growl sounded from deep within the creature's body and all other sounds faded away. Death was heavy on the animal's breath. Dean was paralyzed. This was not how he imagined himself dying.

"Back off, pussy cat."

The voice to his left was deep and firm. Dean didn't move.

Suddenly the panther flinched and screeched- an inhuman sound that nearly shattered Dean's eardrums- then the animal imploded, disappearing in a puff of wispy smoke that smelled of sulfur- and something else. The weight on his chest was gone and Dean gasped for breath, struggling to push himself up, silently thanking whatever god was looking out for him this night.

A hand extended down, stopping in front of his face. Dean looked at it, recognizing that large hand, then followed the arm up to the body and finally to the gruff, smiling face of John Winchester.

Dean was breathless. "Dad?"

"Dean."

Dean reached out and grasped his father's hand, accepting the help to his feet. Blood was congealing in a trail from his nose to his ear and he wiped at it, feeling it start to drip down his upper lip. The world was spinning around him so when John opened his arms, Dean was more than happy to return the hug. "What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling the firm pat on his back before John separated them.

John held up the yellow and orange plastic water gun. "Saving your ass," he replied with a grin. He aimed the weapon towards the sky and pulled the trigger.

Dean watched as a stream of water burst forth, shimmering as it fell to the grass. Dean recognized the toy gun; it had saved their lives before. "Holy water?"

"Holy water."

"But what- how… when…"

He was still stuttering- and the look on John's face was one of amusement- when he heard a commotion on the porch.

"Dean?" Missouri called, sticking her head through the narrow opening in the door. Once she saw him, she pushed the door completely open and stepped outside, Linda on her heels. "Boy, you sure know how to send a woman to an early grave, you know that?" She stepped off the porch and moved with determination across the yard. "Boy, the next time you pull some pig-headed stunt like that- John?"

"Missouri."

Dean remained where he was as Missouri moved towards his father. Where was Sam? His face ached and he licked his lips, tasting the blood from his nose. He took a step towards the house, panting through his open mouth, unable to shake the lingering feeling of impending death. Then Sam ran through the doorway, thudding to a halt halfway down the steps, his eyes wide with worry as he looked between Dean and where Linda was kneeling next to the dog.

Sam was holding a sawed-off shotgun.

Their eyes met and in that connection between the brothers, Dean understood why Sam had been so afraid to leave the property. The thing in these woods was more evil and more powerful than anything they'd ever hunted. The fear in Sam's eyes reflected the cold terror still pumping through his veins. They had both tasted it now, both felt the power of the evil entity haunting the woods.

"We need to go inside now," Sam said, his quiet voice halting all other conversation. He glanced to the trees and Dean couldn't help but do the same. Night had completely fallen now.

They were vulnerable.

John straightened as if he had just now noticed that his youngest son was standing before him. "Sam?"

Dean's thoughts flashed forward on the complexity of the ensuing conversation and he stepped forward, pain lancing through his ankle as he remembered his injury. "He's right- we need to get in the house, now." His shoe was hot with blood and it turned his sock spongy and tacky.

But Sam was eyeing John with a wariness normally reserved for stray dogs. So Dean ignored the pain and the limp in his gate, joining Sam on the steps. Behind them, Linda got the dog to stand up and walked with it as it limped heavily, favoring its right front paw. As the group moved back into the house, Dean prepared himself for the long night ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: We're in the second act and things are moving quickly. I love hearing your thoughts!

* * *

_'Tomorrow comes. Sorrow becomes his soul mate.  
The damage is done. The prodigal son is too late.  
Old doors are closed but he's always open,  
To relive time in his mind.'_

_-'_Billy**James Blunt**

A bag of frozen peas plopped down upon his ankle and Dean stifled a yelp, jumping from his sprawled position at the end of the overstuffed couch to grab his foot.

"Keep that there," Missouri scolded, pointing her finger at the space between Dean's eyes. "You got lucky that thing didn't rip clean through your tendon. And don't roll your eyes at me."

Dean leaned back against the cushions and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his ankle. He looked around the room, feeling the heavy tension in the air. His father was pacing in front of the window, a gun resting against the small of his back as he kept tabs on everyone's movements. Sam sat on one end of the loveseat, Linda on the other. The shotgun was gone; Dean suspected Sam had returned it from wherever he found it. Both Sam and Linda looked nervous. In fact, the only calm soul was Bear, who lay on his oversized pillow, his foot bandaged neatly, snoring rhythmically. The couch dipped as Missouri sat on the end opposite Dean, and he caught a glimpse of her concerned gaze before studying his brother.

Sam looked absolutely lost. His senses seemed to be on high alert, causing him to jump at the slightest sound while tension hardened his face and shoulders. Dean was afraid that he'd lost the trust he'd worked so hard to earn this afternoon. Sam was withdrawing, and- much to Dean's dismay- he was turning to Linda for shelter. The thought set him on edge, and Dean clenched his jaw.

"Tell me what you know about it," John said suddenly, and Dean turned his head to find he was being stared at.

"Not much," Dean replied, pushing himself straighter against the couch. "It seems to stick to the woods and only come out at night. It's fast- possibly a transporter?" He glanced at his leg. "It's also a shape shifter, obviously."

"Have you researched the land yet? Found out what it wants?"

Dean blinked. "No sir. I just got here this afternoon." He had more important things to do, like try and recover his brother's memory.

John nodded curtly and looked to Sam. "Tomorrow morning, I want you to go to the library. Dean and I will-"

"Dad," Dean interrupted at Sam's incredulous look. He ran a hand over his head. "There's a problem."

"I'm well aware of that, Dean. Which is why we need to-"

"No," Dean said, and John froze. Interruptions weren't common- multiple ones were grounds for punishment. "It's Sam."

"Your message said he was missing… looks like you found him now." John said, then he looked at Sam. The room was silent. "What's going on? Are you hurt?"

"You got my message?" Dean was astonished. "Sam's been missing for two weeks and you show up now? Why not sooner? How'd you know we were here?"

"Missouri called me. Said you found Sam and that she needed help, that I needed to be here." John's gaze went from Dean and Missouri slowly. "I thought she was talking about the demon."

The answer didn't surprise Dean. Hunting always came first. It always had and it always would. "Dad, Sam was attacked by that thing out there. He's got amnesia- he doesn't remember anything."

All eyes were on Sam and he seemed to shrink into the cushions. Linda reached over to reassure him, one hand twisted in the necklace on her chest.

"How did this happen?" John asked, looking from Dean to Sam. "What were you doing alone in the woods to begin with?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Dean said. "We were suppose to meet at the airport 45 minutes north of here. I was going to pick Sam up when his flight arrived, but he never showed. I waited for five hours. I called everyone I knew- his friends at Stanford said he'd left-"

"Wait, Stanford? What was he doing there?"

Dean hadn't told his father about Sam's returning to college, and this was a less than ideal time. "He was just visiting," Dean said, giving Sam a meaningful look before bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. "But like I said- nobody knew where he was so I left for Cali. I tore that place apart looking for him," Dean trailed off, long days of worry and fear haunting his memories. "I was at a loss- I was pretty much just wandering. Then Missouri called and said she found him here, in Georgia. I wasted all that time in California. He was right here the whole time." Guilt squeezed his throat and forced his eyes to the floor. Admitting failure had never been his strong suit. Sitting before his father made him feel young, like an incompetent kid.

John's face remained impassive. "You talked to the pilot? The attendees? The other passengers?"

"Yes sir," Dean answered. "Nobody remembered him getting on the plane. It wasn't delayed and there were no layovers. I showed them a badge but the computers were all jacked up- some kind of power surge fried the system. They were still working on it when I got there." Dean remembered the long lines and angry passengers who were forced to wait or even cancel their trips due to the problem. Extra security had been called in to control the rowdy crowd.

"You sure you had the right flight?"

"He emailed me a copy of the tickets."

Sam's head came up and the subtle movement drew Dean's attention. There was a light in Sam's eyes as he said, "I wanted to surprise you."

Dean was at the edge of his seat. "What do you remember, Sam?"

Sam's focus turned inward as he remembered. A hand came up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple. "My classes finished early. I remember calling the airport. I switched flights- got a flight a day earlier. I knew what hotel you were staying at. I thought I would take a taxi from the airport and surprise you." There was a ghost of a smile on his lips when he finished.

Dean shook his head, bewildered. "You didn't call? You didn't let anyone know?"

"I don't think I expected it to be a big deal," Sam replied. "Plus, that would've ruined the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"That still doesn't explain what he was doing out in the woods, or what happened." John cut himself off, blinking. "Wait a minute. Classes?" John looked pointedly at Dean. "You said he was visiting."

Dean groaned inwardly as he realized there was no way around it now. "We split up six months ago, Dad. I sent Sam back to college."

John's jaw dropped and his eyes grew large. His shoulders hardened with tension. "You what?"

"John," Missouri warned. "This is not the time or the place."

"She's right," Linda said, speaking for the first time since John arrived. "It's late, and we're safe now. Let's all try to get some sleep. You can talk more in the morning." She rose and took a step towards the stairway.

John pinned her with a glare. "And who are you?"

"My name is Linda Silvey, and I own this bed and breakfast," she replied evenly, clearly not intimidated.

If Linda believed that Dean and Sam were brothers, she wasn't completely convinced that John was their father. Dean applauded her apprehension and tried to put it at ease. "She helped him, Dad. We owe her." He knew that his father didn't like owing anybody anything. Debts were dangerous- they kept you under another person's power.

"I think some shuteye is exactly what these boys need," Missouri said, standing up. "It's been a long day and bickering with each other isn't going to help anything." She made her way over to John and held out her hand. "Come on. Linda will show us to our rooms."

John looked at his boys, an argument on his tongue, but Missouri cut him off. "And I need to talk to you," she said, eyes narrowing, "In private."

Dean suppressed a smile as his father was led away by the stout black woman. John Winchester was a Marine, a man who gave the orders- never followed. He wasn't easily cowed. Dean had a suspicion that Missouri may be the _only_ person who could get John to submit.

"Dean, I assume you'll be sharing a room with your father?" Linda asked.

"Oh, uh…" Dean glanced at Sam, the thought of not sleeping in the same room strange and unsettling. But he wasn't sure if Sam would want his company, and he wasn't about to upset the fragile relationship between them. "Sure, I can-"

"Yeah, we'll share," Sam spoke up. He looked at Dean with an expression of hope and nervous trust. "I mean, we're brothers, right? It shouldn't be a problem."

Dean stared at Sam in shock, then offered a small smile. Sam returned it slowly.

Linda smiled. "Well Sam, you know where everything is if you need anything. Goodnight, boys."

The brothers returned the pleasantry and were suddenly alone in the large living room. The silence was awkward.

Sam turned to Dean. "Well, come on. I'll show you my room."

Dean grabbed his duffle bag and followed Sam up the stairs. His attention fell to a silver-framed photo as he passed, the image of Linda hugging an older woman inexplicably piquing his interest. But his attention quickly returned to navigating the stairs, his progress made slow by his throbbing ankle. At least the injury was no longer crippling. It wasn't very deep, just hurt like a bitch, and would probably be good as new in a day or two.

He looked at Sam's back, not liking the silence between them. "Did you remember anything else? Anything about how you were attacked?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Things just kinda come to me in flashes, like they're dreams or feelings." They crested the stairs and started down the hallway. Sam's voice lowered. "So that's our dad, huh?" Apprehension glittered brightly in his eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't let him scare you- he really does care about us. He's not always such a hard ass." Not all the time. Just most of it.

Great first impression, Dad.

"How long have he and Missouri known each other?"

Dean followed Sam into a bedroom on the right. "They've been in contact for a long time. Since we were little."

"Since our Mom died?"

"Yeah. She babysat us once while Dad was… grieving." Or hunting for demons. Whichever.

They stood just inside the doorway, side by side. Dean looked around the room. It wasn't very big, the king sized bed being the dominant piece of furniture. There was a small desk under the window, a closet in the corner, and a dresser with a small TV across from the bed. Small, impersonal paintings decorated the walls and knickknacks littered most of the room's surfaces. It really was nothing more than a glorified hotel room, except it was a lot cleaner and well-kept. Dean cocked his head. _Not bad._

Sam looked uncomfortable, and one hand was at his temple again. "I'll, uh… I'll sleep on the floor. You've been driving all day."

Dean snorted. "I've been driving for the past 10 years," he said, moving to look out the window. "Don't worry about it."

The moon was almost full and its soft silver light illuminated the peaceful landscape. It looked so normal, nothing like the habitat of a bone-chilling demon. Satisfied that nothing was lurking in the shadows, Dean turned to find Sam spreading a blanket on the floor. "Hey- what are you doing? I was being sarcastic."

"What?" Sam replied, stopping mid-shake. His eyes were large and serious. "It's no big deal, I can-"

"Dude, we're brothers. We've slept in the same bed before."

Sam glanced at the bed apprehensively. "No, I… uh… I mean, I feel like I just met you. It'd be weird… Sorry."

The words stung and Dean shrugged to camouflage the pain. "Well, whatever. If you change your mind, it's no problem- as long as you don't cross the center line. You kick me, I'll kick you back." Dean threw his duffle bag against the wall and bent to unzip it. "You got a hot shower around here?"

Sam seemed to relax a little as he moved to the door and pointed down the hallway. "Down there, on the left."

Dean grabbed his razor and toothbrush and stood in the doorway. "Be back soon," he grinned, then started to leave- but something caught his attention and he stopped, turning towards it. "Is that your bag?" he asked, approaching the tattered camouflage backpack half-hidden under the bed. He'd know that bag anywhere- it was the one Sam had since he was a teenager.

"What- oh, yeah, I guess," Sam said, joining Dean. "I had it with me when I got here."

"Did you go through it?" he asked, shocked that Sam hadn't said anything about it before.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. It didn't help, though."

Dean pointed at it. "Can I?"

Sam shrugged a shoulder, eyes moving to the backpack. "Sure."

Dean set his belongings on the bed and pulled the bag towards him. He unzipped it, spread the fabric, and dug in.

First he pulled out a clear plastic flask. The water sloshed inside it as he set in on the floor. "Holy water," he announced, then reached in the bag and grabbed a sanded, wooden cross. The items were familiar; they had protected the brothers in the face of evil before. "Cross," he muttered more to himself than Sam. Next, he found the shotgun. He looked up at Sam. "You weren't just a little scared when you found this stuff in your bag?"

Sam shrugged again, shifting his feet. "I never really questioned it. I figured they must be there for a reason. I mean, the person I am must have needed them."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "So you never thought that maybe you were a serial killer?"

"I never felt like a serial killer."

Fair enough. Dean returned his attention to the bag. He pulled out a stiff, fairly new, leather bound journal. Dean had only seen it once of twice before, during his visits to see his brother. "You read it?" he asked.

"I tried," Sam said. "I couldn't understand a lot of it. Most of it is just talking about… creatures."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, rocking backwards to lean against the bed. "You started your own journal after you went back to school. We hunted together once in a while, whenever something came up. You said you wanted to keep better records than what Dad left for us. I think you just liked spending all your time in musty old libraries."

The jab was lost on Sam. Letting his smile fall, Dean opened the journal. The notes weren't as erratic as Dad's; Sam's writing was small and narrow and organized. Pictures were taped so that their edges were straight, important details were starred, every page was formatted. Dean ran his hand over the page and wondered if a journal's composition could tell as much about a person as the actual writing.

"Some of those things sound really dangerous," Sam said, breaking Dean's reverie. "A Wendigo? A woman in white?"

"Not if you know how to handle them. You helped me kill every one of these things, and you're still here to talk about it," Dean said, flipping through the pages. "So none of this rang any bells?"

"There were a couple times when I'd start to remember, but my head would hurt and I didn't understand what it was I should be remembering. It was confusing, and frustrating."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he continued scanning the journal. "Yeah? Like what?"

Sam took a breath. "I have these dreams sometimes… of a person, a shape shifter?"

Dean froze. The words on the page turned blurry and he blinked a couple times. "That one gave us a run for our money," Dean said. Images of Sammy, bloodied and waning, on his back beneath the hands of a shape shifter in Dean's skin flashed before his eyes.

"What happened?"

"He pretended to be me," Dean admitted. His hands tightened on the journal. "Got a hold of you while I was tied up- literally."

Sam glanced at the shotgun. "You killed him?"

Dean nodded, secure in his triumph. "Bullet in the heart." The image appeared in his mind and Dean shivered. He'd come so close to losing Sam that night; three seconds later and Sam might not be here today. That thought had always been a driving force in Dean, a reason to forgive Sam quickly, to always give in to his brother's wishes, to have just a little more patience when Sam was being stubborn. Even now, he realized he should be grateful Sam was even alive to have amnesia, instead of feeling sorry for himself when Sam looked at him like he was a stranger.

Dean sighed, shaking off the dark feeling. Sam was still alive, and bit by bit, his memories _were_ returning. "Killing him was a small price to pay- except now, since the police found 'my' body, I'm officially dead."

"You don't seem very remorseful."

"He was trying to kill you."

Sam looked away, silent. Dean let the memories fade and turned his attention to the journal once more. He turned to the last page and was about to voice his displeasure when a set of numbers and letters caught his eye. "Coordinates," Dean breathed, bringing the journal closer to his face. He pointed, showing the page to Sam. "These are coordinates. Do you know what they're for?"

Sam was leaning over his shoulder, as if he were looking at the page for the first time. "No. I don't remember."

"They must pinpoint an area around here," Dean said. Energy began coursing through him as he imagined all the things Sam could have found. "We need to check it out first thing in the morning."

"You want to go into the woods?" Sam asked. Fear tinted his voice.

Dean flipped through the rest of the blank pages. "We'll go wherever they lead. We'll go in the daylight, with Dad, and we'll take the holy water- that seems to repel it. We'll be ready this time." Satisfied there were no more clues, he shut the journal and got to his feet. "Don't worry, we'll be fine."

Sam snorted. "Famous last words, I'm sure."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay- I'm blaming the site. As always, thanks for your generous reviews!

emily

* * *

John's finger tapped down upon the map with certainty. "Right here. It's less than a mile to the east of us."

Dean leaned over, studying the coordinates John pinpointed from Sam's journal. Beside him, Sam mimicked the action with a little less enthusiasm.

John drained his coffee cup and returned it to the table. "Alight boys, pack up. We're leaving in ten."

Linda had just sat down with her own plate of pancakes and now she looked worried. "Wait a minute- you're not going out there, are you? After what happened last night?" She was playing with her necklace again, twisting it between her fingers.

John pushed back from the table and stood up. "Look ma'm, my boys and I have been doing this for a very long time. We know what we're doing. We'll be fine."

Linda looked far from convinced as she cast a worried glance to Sam. "Do you even know what 'it' is?"

"Hopefully Sam's notes will tell us," John replied, reaching the doorway. He looked back to his sons. "Ten minutes."

As Sam continued picking at his breakfast, Dean studied Linda. She sat very straight, stealing glances as Sam, her shoulders tense and one hand playing with the pendant around her neck. She looked worried, as if she'd just been told that her son was headed off to war. Missouri was even offering soft words of support.

Shaking his head, Dean smiled to himself and looked down. Sam always had a special power- the ability to melt girls' hearts. Maybe it was the overgrown hair, or the sad green eyes, or maybe the dimples. Whatever it was, Sam had been born with it and Dean was often jealous of the way girls would eat out of his brother's hand. And when he was hurt- the 'gift' was magnified tenfold. Sam had the whole Wet Puppy thing going, and you couldn't help but take him in, warm him up, feed him, clean the wounds-

Dean shuddered, blinking. Good God- now he was falling victim to 'it'.

He pushed away from the table and stood up. "Come on Sam, let's get packed."

Sam obeyed quickly, as if he were grateful for the chance to stop eating.

Dean carried his plate to the sink, ignoring the small twinges of pain in his ankle. Last night, John had cleaned the wound with both his wounds and the dog's- at Linda's insistence- with alcohol and holy water, ensuring that no infection of any kind could set in. Dean's cut wasn't very deep, but its location made it irritating. Every time Dean flexed his ankle he could feel the pull of mending flesh.

The dog at least had the luxury of laying in bed all day. Dean had a demon to hunt.

When they were up in the bedroom, Dean said, "You're being awfully quiet," as he checked the clip in his gun.

Sam was sitting on the bed, looking at a point on the far wall. Wrinkles creased his forehead as if he were in pain. "I have a really bad feeling about this."

Dean glanced at him, then shoved the gun in his waistband and grabbed a knife. "You have a vision?"

Sam shook his head, once, slowly. "No. I don't know. I just know it's out there. Waiting."

"That's exactly why we have to go. Maybe you found something out there that will stop it."

"I dreamed about Jessica last night," Sam said, rubbing his head.

Dean faltered, his hands hovering over the duffle bag's zipper. "Yeah?"

Sam sighed, a tiny sound that barely even moved the air. "It's weird, I don't even know who she really was, but I miss her."

"I know," Dean replied. "You loved her." The response had grown automatic over time, but no less heartfelt. She had been killed over two years ago but Sam still couldn't escape the pain- the guilt- of her death. Dean had already said every comforting he could think of. It was frustrating, being unable to make Sam forget. So recently, Dean just changed the subject. "By the way, don't think I didn't feel you elbow me last night. You so owe me."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I was on the floor all night- it couldn't have been me."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I went to sleep on the floor and I woke up on the floor."

At that moment, Bear hobbled down the hallway, click-clacking past the open doorway. He paused, looking at the brothers, wagged his tail once, then continued limping. The brothers looked at each other in understanding.

"Gross- if I have fleas now, I swear… I'll dip both of your asses."

Sam half-smiled at that, and Dean handed him a gun. "Here. You remember how to work one of these, right?" Sam had, after all, come barreling out of the house last, wielding the shotgun.

Sam let the gun's weight settle in his hand. He stared at it, his expression unreadable. "Point and shoot. Isn't that what Dad told us when we were little?"

Dean smiled. "Actually, it was aim-to-kill-because-you-won't-get-another-chance, point and shoot. But close enough."

Three minutes later, the brothers met John inside the front door. A backpack was hanging from one shoulder, presumably loaded with extra protection. His expression was somber- but when wasn't it?- and he looked every bit the hunter that Dean remembered him to be. He turned to face them as the brothers came to a stop. "You boys ready?"

"Yes sir," Dean said, taking a deep breath. He could already feel the adrenaline warming his veins.

Missouri and Linda stood behind them, side by side. "You take care of each other, you hear me?" Missouri said, pointing a finger. "Don't come back here all bloody and torn up." Linda flinched. "You stay safe."

"So far it's only shown itself at night. There won't be any problems." John's voice was firm.

"So far don't mean it can't happen," Missouri replied, then her voice softened. "This thing is powerful. I wish I could help you more-"

"We'll be back," John interrupted. "Don't worry about us." With that, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Bright sunlight and clean air spilled into the house, and John took a step outside. "Let's go boys."

Dean fell into step behind his father, not missing Linda's farewell wave. Sam shut the door behind them and followed Dean, his sneakers almost soundless on the concrete steps. Up ahead, John looked up at the sky, down at his compass, then set off in a purposeful stride.

"You think we'll find it?" Sam asked, moving up beside Dean. Worry creased his forehead beneath thick bangs. "In the daylight, I mean."

Dean believed in- and relied on- his father's certainty. The older man said there would be no problems, so there would be no problems. "No," he replied. "But it never hurts to go prepared."

A single _woof_ announced Bear's arrival and the old Golden Retriever limped up to them, falling into step beside Sam.

Dean snorted. "That flea bag seems to really like you." He watched the dog as it hobbled, its body dipping as it avoided putting pressure on its bandaged front foot. "He's a brave dog, I'll give him that. Launched himself at the demon without a second thought."

Sam nodded. "He's loyal. Linda says his foot will be fine." He paused, then asked, "We never had any pets… did we?"

Dean shook his head. "No time. We moved around too much. Although one summer, in Utah, you started feeding Mrs. Crabtree's cat. Damn thing would sit on the front step and howl until it got milk." Dean laughed. "Dad hated it- tried to chase it off, but every night you would set out a bowl for it. You were so upset when he had to move. You thought it was going to starve to death. Mrs. Crabtree even took us shopping with her so you could see her buying a bag of cat food."

Sam was smiling. "She was nice, and she smelled like peaches."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "The old woman or the cat?"

"Mrs. Crabtree," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Dean grinned. Sam's memory was returning in leaps and bounds- even if it was a painful experience- and he couldn't be more pleased. Sam was gradually becoming more comfortable, more trusting around him. Sam the little brother was slowly eclipsing Sam the amnesiac.

It couldn't be happening fast enough.

"How's you foot?" Sam asked, gesturing.

"Not too bad," Dean said honestly. "Although when we catch this freak of a kitty, I'm declawing it."

"Sam!" John called. He stopped and waited for the boys to catch up. They were almost to the woods. "I want you watching our sixes, got it? If anything so much as blinks wrong, shoot it. Understand?"

Sam looked apprehensive. "Okay."

John raised an eyebrow and Dean suppressed a flinch at the informality. Clearly, Sam had not remembered the military-style training John had raised them by.

"Okay?" he mimicked, turning to face them fully. "Okay? Sam- this is not a game. This is real. You do remember how to work a gun, don't you?"

Dean's chest tightened at his father's words, but he said nothing. _He_ remembered his upbringing.

"Yeah," Sam replied, squinting against the sunlight. "I got it." The words were sharp and rebellious.

John studied Sam for a few seconds. "You better get it. You said it yourself- this thing is powerful. If you screw up, it's our lives at stake. Now, can I count on you or not?"

The pressure John was applying was getting out of control. "Give him a break, Dad," Dean finally spoke up. "He doesn't have all of his memories back yet."

John kept his gaze on Sam, cold and assessing. "He doesn't need to remember. All he has to do is watch our backs."

Dean looked away, hoping to hide his disappointment. It appeared that Dad was more interested in regaining a soldier than a son, and that truth ignited an anger in Dean that he rarely felt towards his father. Sam was more than a soldier- but John was so engrossed in the hunt that he couldn't see that.

"Dean."

His gaze immediately snapped back to his father. "Yes sir."

"Keep a sharp eye."

"Yes sir."

And with that, they started moving again.

"Did I do something?" Sam asked quietly, his eyes on their father.

"It's more like what you didn't do," Dean replied with a small shake of his head. "Dad wants us to act like soldiers. That includes calling him 'sir'. Putting the mission above 'normal' family stuff, like holidays and sports."

Sam's fingers were still on the dog's head, smoothing over the fur slowly. "I remember…" he slowed, frowning as his hands rose to his temples. "My head hurts…"

"Sam?"

"I can see it, the training, the orders, the 'tests'. I remember-"

Sam dropped to his knees. Dean stopped, his shoes kicking up a spray of dirt as he went to Sam's side. "Sam! Come on, snap out of it. Open your eyes." Dean grabbed Sam's bicep as he tilted towards the ground. Sam's eyes were pinched shut and his hands were balled into fists at his temples. "Sam! Listen to me- just breathe! Come on, Sam!" The dog was prancing about and barking, adding to the tension.

"What's happening? Is he okay?" John's voice was at his shoulder as Dean struggled with Sam.

"He's having a flashback," Dean grunted, trying to grab Sam's chin as he pitched forward, doubled over in obvious pain. "Sam, wake up!" The dog continued to bark next to Sam's head and Dean shoved it. "Get out of here!"

The dog fell silent but kept its vigil over Sam from a few feet away. A few tense, eerie seconds ticked by then suddenly Sam relaxed, his body going lax in Dean's arm with a violent gasp. The dog darted forward and began licking Sam's face.

"Sam, calm down. You okay?" Dean was focused on Sammy's breathing, barely aware of John kneeling next to him.

Sam rested on his haunches, no longer needing Dean's support. His hands were still on his head, though now they were relaxed and shaking. His skin was pale. Sam took a deep breath, keeping his head down and his eyes shut. "I'm okay. Sorry. I just… it happened too quickly…"

"Sam," John interrupted, "what did you see?"

"I don' t know… it was dark." Sam's voice was shaky and he drew another deep breath. "You both were there… someone had me… I think they were vampires?" He put a hand on the dog's back and it sat down.

Dean and John stared at each other before Dean blinked. "We were in Salvation. Dad shot the vamp that had you. You remember that?"

Sam shrugged and pulled himself together a little more. He straightened. "That's all I saw."

John reached out tentatively and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam looked up. "You okay now?"

Sam took another deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

John stood. "Good. Then let's move out."

Dean helped Sam stand, noticing the hurt look on Sam's face as he watched their father's form move away. "He does care, Sam. He won't admit it, but he's scared. Scared for you, and your… visions, memories, whatever they are. Plus, we don't know what we're up against, except that this thing is a bad mother fucker. One wrong move and we die. That's how it's always been. You have to remember that."

Sam looked skeptical. "That's Dad's 'scared face'?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah Sammy, that's his 'scared face'."

Suddenly Bear whined and froze, causing Sam to stop and turn back towards the dog. "Bear- what?" Sam asked. The dog's ears were pinned back flat against his head and his tail was down, between his legs. He was licking his lips and cringing, keeping his face turned away from the brothers as he continued to cry softly.

Dean turned away from the dog and realized why the animal was so afraid. He grabbed Sam's elbow and turned him away from the dog, pointing. Sam quit talking and grew very still.

"We're here."

They were standing before Black Hills Forest. Dean let his gaze travel upwards, up the black, gnarly tree trunks and over the twisted, tortured tree limbs. Dry and brittle leaves rasped against each other quietly, whispering of an evil presence. The scent of decay was heavy in the air. The temperature had dropped considerably and Dean shivered.

"This is a seriously fucked-up mess you've gotten yourself into, Sammy."

A few feet ahead, John stopped and whipped around. "Boys! If you're done sightseeing, I could use some back up."

Dean blinked and took a deep breath of the stale air before starting forwards in his father's wake. He glanced backwards and noticed the dog's worried expression as he was left behind. Satisfied Sam was following, Dean returned his attention to the ground beneath his feet.

Tree roots emerged from the ground in small humps, hidden under layers of dead and rotting leaves. The sunlight was very limited, only managing to poke through the dense canopy in a few scattered places. All the younger vegetation was exclusive to those small patches of sunlight; saplings and wildflowers huddled together as if forming circles of safety. Staying in the light, out of the darkness.

Even the plants knew what evil was lurking about.

Dean hadn't realized he'd crept up on his father until he nearly stepped on the older man's heel. He backed off and searched the surroundings carefully. Nothing moved.

"Stick close together," John said, his gun already drawn. Belatedly, Dean did the same.

Giant trees dwarfed the men as they picked their way through the forest. Dean's senses were on hyper-alert and he gripped the gun tightly. He saw every brittle leave twitch, every acorn that dropped to the ground. Their footsteps echoed softly; the scraping of dry leaves over one another louder than it should be in the near-silence. Dean didn't mind the noise- it let him keep track of Sam without having to constantly look over his shoulder. It was a welcome distraction from the absence of life around them.

Dean's eyes caught something in the shadows and he stopped, moving slightly off track. He pushed aside a leafy branch, revealing a dirty, moss-covered human skull.

Behind him, Sam gasped. "Is that from the demon?"

Dean stepped back, wondering absently where the rest of the bones were. "Maybe," he said, trying to shake the unease that had settled over him. "Come on."

Minutes later, John held up a hand and Dean stopped, then stumbled forward as Sam ran into his back. They stood still, Dean searching for whatever John had seen. Then John pointed, stabbing his index and middle finger towards 2 o'clock. He started forwards slowly, gun raised, and behind him, Dean did the same.

As they crept forward, Dean spotted something glinting in a patch of sunlight. He didn't let himself be distracted by it, instead narrowing his eyes and searching the surrounding trees even harder. If they were getting close, they were getting into more danger. Any slip-up could have grave consequences.

"Dean." John jerked his chin towards a tree on their left.

A symbol had been craved into the inky bark, revealing a lighter-grained wood underneath. The symbol was in the shape of a triangle, with a small, inverted triangle inside it. Three dots were spaced evenly along the bottom. A single scrolling line sprouted from the bottom right corner and curved downwards, ending in a curl underneath the triangle. Dean's chest tightened with a feeling of recognition.

"That's the symbol of a wraith," John said. "Keep your eyes peeled."

Dean had never battled a wraith before, but he knew about them. They were ghosts, apparitions of tortured souls. Wraiths were either drawn to a place by pain and suffering, or they were called upon and bound, used as unwilling guardians. They needed to do research- maybe a war had been fought in these woods, or maybe someone had been murdered here. They needed to figure out why this wraith had been bound to the forest- what is was protecting.

"There."

A few feet ahead, a collection of softball-sized white stones had been arranged in a circle, their starkness contrasting with the dark leaves. A collection of half-melted candles sat at the base of a tree, uneven dribbles of wax hardened down the sides like spines. A deep bowl, handmade and decorated, sat on the ground. Beside it, a dagger glistened in the sun.

Dean exhaled slowly. "Shit."

John and Dean looked at each other as Sam came to a stop beside them. He was silent for a moment, then looked up. "What-"

John interrupted him, lowering his gun and moving closer. "It looks like an alter," he said, leaning over the bowl. He looked at Dean. "It's full of blood."

"An alter?" Sam asked. "Someone made this? Who? Why?"

"That's what we have to find out," John replied. "Someone summoned this thing and is controlling it."

"But who?" Dean snorted, his hands out at his sides. "Look around- we're in the heart of Georgia. The only person within miles or here is… um." Dean trailed off as he met Sam's intense gaze. There was only one person Dean knew of- and that was Linda.

The realization blindsided him with enough force to render him speechless. Linda, the women who Sam looked up to, who he trusted more than any of them right now. It was hard to believe that the gentle, middle-aged woman who had fed them apple pie and gave them a place to sleep was controlling an evil spirit. If she was in fact behind this, Dean would have to re-evaluate his observation skills.

However ridiculous he wanted the notion to be, Dean wouldn't risk upsetting the fragile balance between himself and Sam by voicing his suspicions out loud. To do that would be catastrophic. Dean shot a warning glare to John, and thankfully, it was understood.

John put away his gun. "Well now that we know what we're up against, we can prepare ourselves. We'll come back at nightfall and wait for someone to show up."

Sam shook his head, squinting as if he were remembering something. "Don't we need to do some kind of research first?" he questioned. "Look up the history of the forest, who might have died in here?"

"There's no need for that," John dismissed. "A person created this alter- someone is purposely holding the wraith in this forest." He shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants. "All we need to do is break the bond."

"And then what happens?"

"The wraith will be released from its hold and then return to hell."

A feeling of foreboding came over Dean. "When you say 'set free'…"

John nodded once. "The moment we break that bond, it will kill whoever was holding it here."

Sam's eyes grew large and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his head.

"I hate freaking Georgia."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: Extra long chapter tonight, kids. Only one more chapter left, then the eppy. Thanks for sticking with it!

emily

* * *

As Sam watched Dean, he realized something wasn't right.

Something had happened in the woods, something between John and Dean that Sam had completely missed. He felt like he was on the outside of an inside joke- like they knew a secret about him. It was the way Dean and John shared guarded looks when they thought he didn't see, and the way they seemed to have developed a sudden unfriendliness towards Linda. Sam knew Linda felt it too, he could tell from her questioning glances, but Sam was just as puzzled as she.

Something wasn't right.

The walk home from the woods was quiet and tense and eventually Sam stopped trying to offer his help in researching the land. Their secrecy made him feel useless and even more in the way. John's face was set hard and he wouldn't even look at him, while Dean's face held sorrow, as if he'd just run over Sam's puppy. Confused and irritated by both, he settled for slowing his pace and shutting his mouth.

He was starting to trust Dean. Bits and pieces of memories provided strong emotional ties, and Sam found himself relaxing more and more around Dean. He was still uncomfortable at certain times, like when they accidentally touched or were left alone together with nothing to talk about. But Dean seemed like a strong, caring person- the type of guy Sam would want for a big brother. He forced himself to relax and wait, hoping the full return of his past would put him at ease.

When they'd returned to the bed and breakfast, things only got worse. Linda was bidding farewell to the Bradleys and called Sam over to do the same. He felt Dean's eyes on him the entire time he stood by the elderly couple's car and the feeling unnerved him. As soon as the Bradley's were nothing more than a cloud of dust and a set of tire tracks, Dean had called Sam over- away from Linda- having developed a sudden interest in how old Bear was.

Sam's eyebrows were still knitted together as Linda set the casserole on the table. "What's wrong, Sam? I thought you liked tuna?"

He blinked, shaken from his reverie by the worry in her voice. "It's fine- it looks great." He looked at Dean, whose face was impassive. "I'm not too hungry- I think I'm gonna lay down for a while."

He pushed back his chair and started to stand. Linda froze, frowning in concern. "Oh- okay… do you feel okay? You look a little pale. Maybe I should-"

"I'm fine, just a headache," Sam replied. He hadn't even realized it until now, but a headache was indeed beginning to throb against the back of his eyes. He left the room quickly, well aware of the confused faces watching him.

Sam climbed the stairs and made it into his room, shutting the door behind him then leaning back against it. He needed to be alone, to try and figure out the sudden mood swing in Dean and John. The tension downstairs was palpable. Sam took offense to anyone not looking favorably upon Linda- she had taken him in and cared for him when he was alone and frightened. She had earned his respect and trust. If he were being completely honest, he would even admit to loving her as a mother.

He pushed himself away from the door and walked to his bed. The sun was streaming in through the window, lighting the room and increasing the pain in his head. Sam squinted as he passed through the sunlight and lay on his back atop the king-sized bed. He was tired, tired of the confusion and the loneliness and the overwhelming emotions. The fatigue was in his bones, making his limbs feel heavy. He didn't want to have to think about it anymore. Why couldn't things just go back to the way they were before, when it was just Linda and him, back when things were simple?

'_Because that's not your real life_,' he told himself. His real life was danger, insecurity, and pain. It was dark. It was lonely and hard and he hated the feeling it left in his stomach.

Sam wondered why he had chosen to live a life so cold.

Sam sighed heavily- the answer was sitting downstairs.

There was no doubt that Dean belonged in his life, he had the memories to prove it. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking back to Dean's words.

_/ "When you were six months old, our Mom burned to death on the ceiling above your crib." /_

Suddenly a stabbing pain erupted behind his eyes and Sam shut them tightly, gasping as he pressed his fists tightly upon his forehead. He held his breath, pushing his head back into the pillow as he tried to escape the torture. What the hell was happening?

The pain was unbearable and Sam panicked. He grabbed his head, his fingernails digging into his scalp as he worried that the bones in his skull were cracking open. He sucked in a hitching breath and started to roll towards the edge of the bed, where, once on the floor, he might be able to get to the door.

Before he could, the room grew very cold. Unnaturally cold. Sam held his breath and blinked open his watery eyes.

The image above him sent ice through his veins and instantly, Sam fell still.

Subconsciously, he noticed the room had fallen into darkness and the surroundings were unfamiliar. But at the moment, all he could see was the stricken, pain-filled face of a young woman above him.

Her blonde hair was fanned out around her head and her arms and legs were bent haphazardly around her. Her mouth was open in a silent cry and slowly, blood dripped from her abdomen, splattering thick and warm across his forehead. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

_Jessica_…

Love. Pain. Sorrow. Sam could feel her emotions as clearly as his own. He stared into her eyes as they branded his soul.

_Jessica_…

"Sam!"

Dean's voice was loud and sharp and a moment later hands were on Sam's neck and shoulders. The sunlight returned as the room morphed, blinding him with its intensity and Sam groaned, shutting his eyes and turning his face away from the window. His head still pounded lowly and he tried to ride out the pain.

"Sam, talk to me. What happened? You okay?"

"Dean?" he mumbled, trying to control his breathing. "I saw…" His throat constricted and he stopped. The sense of loss was overwhelming.

"What, Sam?" Dean prompted, one hand on Sam's shoulder.

Tears filled Sam's eyes and he wasn't sure if they were from his headache or the vision. "I saw a girl… Jessica… on the ceiling. Dead."

There was a heartfelt sigh above him as the hand on his bicep squeezed gently. "Sammy…"

Sam forced his eyes open, quickly wiping at the unshed tears before Dean could see. He pushed himself up and sat still, nostrils flaring as he slowed his breathing. "It really was her, wasn't it?" he asked quietly, staring at his knees. "That's really how she died? With the blood…"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice just as soft. "Just like mom."

They sat in silence, neither looking at the other, until another vision flashed through Sam's head. "You were there, weren't you? You pulled me out, when Jessica…" Suddenly it was important, and Sam realized it was only one of many times Dean had risked his life for him.

Dean nodded, glancing at Sam. "Yeah, Sammy. I was there."

"Just like with Mom."

"Just like with Mom."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened back there, in the woods? There's something you're not telling me. Did I do something? Did I _not_ do something?"

Dean looked away again, suddenly incredibly fascinated with Sam's pillow. "No, of course not. It's not you."

"Then what? Is it Linda? Something's going on between you and her- I can see it plain as day. Did she do something?"

Dean sighed and picked at a cuticle, holding his breath as if thinking about how to use it.

He needed encouragement. Sam decided to be honest. "I believe that we're brothers," he admitted. "I have flashbacks sometimes… you're always in them. Saving me. Joking around with me. Sometimes we're just driving. I feel like I know you, deep down, you know? I want to trust you." Sam paused, meeting Dean's hopeful gaze. "Help me trust you, Dean," Sam prompted. "Tell me what's going on."

Dean slowly relented. His gaze dropped quickly before a new determination shone in his eyes. "Okay, uh… you're going to hate me for this…" He cleared his throat. "Have you- have you ever seen Linda acting strange? Sneaking out in the middle of the night, sneaking off to a secret room, or anything like that?"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "No. Never. She spends all day keeping the place cleaned up, then she usually goes to sleep the same time I do." He looked at Dean. "Why?"

Dean shrugged, suddenly appearing careless. "Just wondering- Dad wants to make sure she has nothing to do with the wraith."

The realization was like a slap in the face. "Dad thinks she's responsible for the thing in the woods?"

"No- he just, you know. Wants to make sure, that's all." Dean smiled softly. "She doesn't have a certain object she's really attached to or anything?"

Sam shook his head quickly. "No. Nothing." Sam pushed himself off the bed and began to pace in front of the window. "You can tell 'Dad' that she's innocent." He had admitted to himself that Dean belonged in his life- but John, on the other hand, was still a complete stranger. He hadn't connected with the older man, hadn't felt an ounce of emotion. And now- How dare he accuse Linda of having evil intents? Sam was fuming.

"He's just looking out for you," Dean said. "Someone _is_ controlling the wraith, Sam. Someone is responsible for keeping you here- probably for messing you up in the first place. Dad just doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Then why wouldn't he come to me? Why didn't he just ask me about her?" Sam threw his hands in the air. "She's a good person, and I trust her. I know she doesn't have anything to do with this."

"That's why Dad didn't tell you," Dean said. "You're obviously attached to her- she took you in and kept you safe for God's sake! We don't blame you for liking her! But we have to look at every possibility here, Sam. And right now, she's a pretty damn big one."

Sam crossed his arms. "No. There has to be another explanation."

Dean raised his hands in agreement. "I hope there is."

Sam held his gaze a moment longer, then turned to stare out the window. Down below, Linda was showing Missouri a row of blooming Black-Eyed Susans. The two pointed and smiled and their lips moved in conversation. The scene was so normal, so _harmless_- Sam clenched his jaw.

John Winchester was wrong. Linda had nothing to do with the monster in the woods.

And Sam would prove it.

o0O0o

Sam leaned against the wall, watching Linda dust the bookshelves with a rag, humming softly to herself. She picked up a picture of herself and a young man- her now estranged son- and wiped it gently before setting it back down. Bear lay in a sprawl on the hardwood floor, breathing heavily in his sleep.

A hand on his elbow made him jump. "Sam, I need to talk to you for a moment."

Missouri was standing behind him, dropping her hand as she looked at him meaningfully. Behind her, Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Sam glanced back to Linda, who continued cleaning unaware of the gathering behind her. "I need to talk to Linda first," he said, looking pointedly at Dean.

Missouri put one hand on her hip. "You need to talk to _me _first, boy," she replied, shooing him into the kitchen. "Get your tail in here and sit down. Dean, leave us be for a few minutes."

Wordlessly, Dean nodded, then left with nothing but a hopeful glance to Sam.

"Now," Missouri watched as Sam sat down, lowering her voice. "Dean told me what's going on. I know you're upset, but-"

"So he told you that they think Linda is the one controlling the thing in the woods?" Sam snapped, his face contorting in anger. "Do you know how ridiculous that is? She's the nicest woman I know, she's-"

"Sam," Missouri interrupted, laying her hand over his on the table. "I'm not here to take sides. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything foolish. A hot temper is one thing you got from your daddy, and it's the last thing this house needs right now. Now shut up and listen to me for a moment."

Sam pouted, shutting his mouth and leaning back. He remembered very little of Missouri, but her personality alone demanded respect. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. "Fine."

"Good. Now lemme ask you something. What were you going to say when you went in there?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever it took to prove she's innocent."

Missouri shook her head slowly. "And if you didn't get the answers you wanted?"

Sam glared. "She's got nothing to do with the thing- the _wraith_."

Missouri lifted her hands. "I'm not saying one way or the other. But Sam, you've got to prepare yourself for the worst. People aren't always what we want them to be." Her words were soft and gentle. "Your father is very good at what he does- you can't fault him for being suspicious, not when he's trying to protect you boys."

Sam crossed his arms. He hadn't felt the emotional connection to John like he had felt with Dean- he didn't trust the older man and was certainly rubbed the wrong way more than once. For now they simply coexisted, neither making the move to open up emotionally.

In the other room, Linda talked to Bear about the weather. Missouri smiled. "No one's blaming you for wanting to believe Linda is innocent. In fact, I'd think something were wrong with you if you didn't. She's very hospitable."

"Hospitality is her job," Sam said. "She more than that- she's a good person. Why can't you all see that?"

"Oh, I can see it, child," Missouri replied. "But even good people make mistakes."

Sam shook his head in refusal.

"I don't need to be psychic to know she means a lot to you. But Dean and John are your family. They missed you terribly and they love you. You will have to leave with them eventually, regardless of what happens." She paused, looking him in the eyes. "That has to be frightening."

Sam had never thought much about leaving here. It was always in the back of his mind, but he'd been too concerned with trying to find his past, then Linda's integrity had been challenged. What would it be like, living with Dean and John? Would the three of them return to the hunt, drifting from city to city in search of the supernatural, or would John leave them again? How long would it take to become readjusted to a life on the road, with Dean as his only steady companion? Would he miss this life? Miss the chores and the home cooked meals and the quiet lay of farmland?

"It's okay to be scared," Missouri said, scooting closer. "Sam, I can't make you remember everything, but I think you know you can trust Dean. He'd never do anything out of spite or to harm you. We all can see how much you like it here, but this isn't some ploy to upset you. There is real danger here and it needs to be dealt with. By any and all means necessary."

"I know," he snorted. "Trust me, I know."

"Do you agree to stay quiet for a while longer? None of us want to hurt Linda- as far as everyone's concerned, she's innocent until proven guilty. Just give your father some time to figure out what's going on, okay Sam?"

Sam was silent, contemplating the request. It felt wrong knowing they were conspiring about her in her own home. Sam felt ashamed that his own explicit trust in the woman had been fractured. He had no reason to doubt her, especially after everything she did for him- but the others seemed so convinced she was involved. Dean's doubts had transplanted themselves onto him and he couldn't help but look at Linda in a slightly different light.

"Sam?"

"Okay," he said at last, hating the taste of defeat on his tongue. "No one says anything to her until we're sure."

Missouri nodded. "Deal." She smiled, leaning back in her chair. "I miss these talks, Sam. It's been a long time… too long. Lawrence was never the same after you boys moved away."

Sam retuned the smile out of politeness. He felt safe with her gentle, rational good-nature, but the memories of his time with her had not returned. He wondered just how important to him she had been.

A soft knock on the doorframe caught his attention and Sam turned to find Dean leaning around the corner. "Dad says he has something he wants to show us, if you two are done here."

"As a matter of fact, we are done," she replied. "I was just telling Sam about the havoc you two wreaked on the quiet town of Lawrence." She nudged Sam with her elbow. "You wouldn't believe some of the things your brother got into when he was a pup. Gave me quite a few gray hairs." She raised a hand to her hair, patting it.

"Me?" Dean scoffed indignantly, coming fully into the kitchen. "Sammy was just as much of a trouble maker as I was. He even instigated half of it!"

"Don't you blame this angel," Missouri warned with a pointed finger and a protective hand to Sam's head. "He just followed his big brother- I remember the two of you riding your bicycles to the ice cream shop and mooching off the elderly women that worked there. How many times did I have to drive there and pick you up because you got sick to your stomach on free chocolate-covered sundaes?"

Dean chuckled. "Hey, with his puppy eyes and dimples coupled with my charm, we were unstoppable."

"Oh, I stopped you alright," Missouri said. "All that ice cream was affecting your growth. You're lucky I had you start mowing lawns for exercise."

Dean's eyes glittered. "Yeah, I remember. You sure taught us a lesson." He looked at Sam, grinning slyly.

Something in Sam flip-flopped and the air grew cold. The conversation continued around him.

"Funny thing was how much you liked doing it," Missouri muttered, her eyes unfocused as she remembered the past. "I never counted on that. Oh well," she sighed, pushing back in her chair and standing up. "We better not keep your father waiting any longer."

Sam remained where he was. Something about the story wasn't right. There was something Dean was leaving out, and it flitted at the edge of his memory like a ghost in the fog. He reached for it, closing his eyes in concentration as a dull pain began throbbing behind his eyes. It was so close…

"Sam?"

The next thing he knew, he was falling forwards.

Visions flashed before his eyes… playing silently as his body became weightless. There were images of Dean as a child, of red bicycles and ice cream cones, of large black cars and dirty shovels, John, salt, wooden crosses, guns and bullets, report cards, a baseball, two small beds in a tiny bedroom, black and white TV, cereal, a rubber duck, then flowers by a grave. Happiness, sadness, longing and anger… they crashed upon him, filling all the tiny holes that had been left in him, completing him, making him whole again. He knew what it meant to be _Sam_. He had a sense of self that had never quite been there since he woke up that rainy night in the woods.

His body hummed with suppressed energy and all his nerve endings exploded in pain.

He was back.

There was a scream as his forehead smacked the edge of the table, then he slid off the chair and collapsed on the floor. The chair had tipped over and fallen with him, ensnaring his legs as he struggled to lift himself up. Hands were on him, steadying him. By the time he realized he was under the heavy kitchen table, his head connected with the underside of it and he winced, cringing away as the pain doubled.

"Just calm down, lay down and be still," Missouri instructed, pushing on his shoulder while cushioning his back with the other hand. "Dean, go get some ice and a towel. Sam, can you hear me?"

He nodded, both fists pressed tightly against his eyebrows as he tried to breath through the pain. Warm blood trickled from a cut above his right eyebrow, slicking his hand as it tickled a trail down his temple and through his hair. The visions had stopped, why was the pain still so unbearable? He sucked in a large breath, suddenly realizing his lungs were burning from neglect.

"Hurts," he murmured, his eyes screwed shut so tightly he saw explosions of color in the blackness.

"I know sweetie, just hang in there-"

"What's going on in- Sam? Oh my God, is he okay?"

"Thank you Dean. He's alright Linda, just had a little accident…"

Sam's fists were pried away from his face and a cold weight was pressed to his head. "Keep that there," Missouri said with a pat to his shoulder. "Don't move."

Sam nodded slightly and swallowed. "Dean?"

"Yeah buddy, I'm right here."

A warm hand settled on his arm. Sam smiled as the ice began to provide some relief. "I remember."

"Remember what?"

He chuckled weakly, unable to stop the goofy smile on his face. "That summer. The secret. How the neighbors felt sorry for you and _paid_ you for mowing… so you took us back to the ice cream shop anyway…"

Missouri gasped. "Dean Winchester!"

"Ow! Thanks a lot, Sam."

"Sam, do you remember anything else?" Missouri asked, without a hint of violence in her voice.

He nodded. "Everything."

"Everything? Even the fifty dollars you owe me?"

Sam couldn't stop the smile from spreading over him. "Everything but that." The pain was lessening now. He risked tilting his head and cracking open one eye. Missouri and Dean were sitting on the floor, half under the wooden kitchen table with him. His legs were laying straight out, bathed in light from the kitchen's overhead fixture. It was then he realized someone was missing. "Linda?" he asked, searching the floor for her legs. Hadn't she come in to see if he was okay? Had he imagined that?

Missouri and Dean turned to look as well, confusion on their faces.

Linda was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note**: I deeply apologize for the delay, and for not replying to all your wonderful comments. The site was giving me major problems last night. I want to thank everyone who has been reading and spending a few seconds to send me their comments.

emily

* * *

_'If you're goin' through hell,  
Keep on goin'.  
Don't slow down:  
If you're scared don't show it.  
You might get out,  
'Fore the devil even knows you're there.'_

_-_'If You're Goin' Through Hell'_, Rodney Atkins_

"Dean, grab the Holy water. Sam, grab the box of ammo. Come on boys, on the double!"

Sam snatched the box from the table, feeling the bullets rattle together gently. He tossed the box in the duffle bag moments before Dean threw in a plastic bottle of water. John added a small container of something else and zipped the bag shut quickly, hoisting it over his shoulder.

"Missouri, you stay here. Salt the entry ways and don't set foot out of the house, understand?"

The plump black woman stood in the doorway with Bear at her side, her forehead wrinkled in concern. "I know the drill, John. I'll be fine. It's you three I'm worried about."

"We'll be fine." John stood in front of the door, at last looking Sam in the eyes before glancing at Dean. "Okay boys, let's move out. Keep your eyes open, we don't know where she is."

Dean nodded, his shoulders stiff and squared. "Yes sir."

Sam tried to calm his spinning mind. Everything seemed to happen at once- his memories returning, Linda disappearing, and now the hunt for her and the wraith she was controlling. He shook his head in an effort to clear it. He was running on autopilot, merely following orders, not thinking about what he was preparing to do. There was no time to think. He just had to act.

"Sam?"

John was staring at him, which in turn caused Missouri and Dean to stare at him too. Sam offered a smile. "Yeah, I'm ready."

There was a brief pause as John smiled, the expression causing Sam's chest to tighten. Once John learned that Linda was missing, everything else had become an afterthought. Sam had gotten a 'it's good to have you back,' and a lingering hand on his shoulder before John turned away and began barking orders.

"Good. Remember- shoot first, ask questions later." John triple checked his gun for ammo. "This ends tonight."

They stepped onto the porch and down the steps, into the grass. The sun was just resting on the horizon, casting long shadows over the property. The sky was stained with orange and purple and a gentle, honeysuckle-scented breeze moved the air. Sam snorted at the irony of it- such a beautiful night wasted on such an ill-fated hunt.

"You boys come back in one piece, ya hear?" Missouri called after them. Worry was thick in her voice.

John waved over his shoulder, never breaking stride.

Dean slowed down and waited for Sam to join him. As they walked together, Dean asked, "So you're good now? You remember everything?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Aside from a headache and the myriad of emotions swirling inside him, he was just peachy.

"How's the head?"

Absently, Sam reached up to the bandage on his head where'd he hit the kitchen table. "I'll live," he replied, dropping his hand when touching it caused stars to dance before his eyes.

"You've had worse," Dean added. "A lot worse."

"Yeah."

They walked in silence for a few moments, each lost within their own thoughts. Sam couldn't believe he'd been so blind. How could he not have known Linda was behind all this? Dad was probably pissed, and Sam couldn't argue. He should have noticed something wasn't right. Should have been more observant, more careful. He had walked right into this mess and now three other people were at risk.

But there was also the anger of betrayal. He'd trusted Linda, spent the past two weeks helping her, eating her cooking, sleeping under her roof. He'd trusted her- became friends with her- and she threw it all in his face. It made him mad- mad at her, mad at himself, mad at Dad for being right and exposing her in the first place.

And it also hurt.

For two weeks, he felt a mother's love. Someone cared for him, doted over him, nursed him back to health and made him smile. It was ridiculous- he knew she wasn't his mother. But he'd enjoyed the illusion long enough to understand what he was missing. Having it ripped away from him left an empty place in his heart, and suddenly he understood a little bit more about what made Dean, _Dean_.

"Sam?"

He blinked, rubbing his temples in an attempt to dispel the ache that was gripping his head and his heart. "Yeah."

Dean was looking at him critically. "You gonna be able to do this?"

Would he? If it came down to it, could he hurt Linda in order to protect his family? Sam had to believe that his strength would be there when he needed it. "I'll be fine."

They were approaching the forest now, and it loomed overhead hungrily. Knowing what was waiting for them made it no less threatening, and Sam couldn't stop a shiver from crawling down his spine. John marched ahead steadily.

"So you're sure you're _you_?"

Sam nodded in exasperation. "Yes, Dean. I'm me."

"When's my birthday?"

"Are you serious?"

"When's my birthday?"

Sam sighed. "January 24th."

"What year is the Impala?"

"1967."

"Who's the lead singer of AC/DC?"

Sam stopped. "What year?"

Dean beamed. "That's my boy!" He pulled Sam close for a quick hug, then shoved him away. "Now," Dean snapped suddenly, cuffing Sam sharply on the back of the head, "what the _hell_ were you doing traipsing around in these woods for, anyway? You know better than to investigate shit alone! Do you have any kind of idea what sort of nervous breakdown you gave me?"

Sam rubbed his head gingerly, putting more space between them. "Ow! What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is that I spent two weeks running myself ragged, looking for your sorry ass! I thought you were dead, Sam! Why the fuck didn't you wait at the airport? Why didn't you call?"

Sam felt a hint of remorse at the naked pain in Dean's eyes. "I told you- I wanted to surprise you! It's not like I planned on splitting my skull open and erasing my memory." He thought back to the day his plane touched down in Georgia, relaying the events to Dean…

_/ Sam stepped out of the ramp's tunnel, stretching his jaw as he walked. He shifted his backpack to the other shoulder, easing the sore muscles. The cold blast of air conditioned air met him in the face as he entered the airport. Inside, a vocal elderly couple enthusiastically welcomed the young woman walking in front of him. Sam moved around them with a courteous smile and searched for the baggage claim signs. _

_A few minutes later, he stood amongst a group of silent strangers, all of them facing the unmoving conveyor. Sam let himself get lost in the gleaming metal slats as he waited, imaging the surprise on Dean's face when he showed up at the hotel a day early. They got together on a regular basis since Sam returned to Stanford, but it just wasn't the same. They were no longer glued to each other's side, and while Sam enjoyed the freedom and stability of classes, he also missed his older brother not cracking lame jokes and annoying the hell out of him. Sam even missed the constant rumble of the Impala- a sound that haunted his dreams quite regularly. _

_It was obvious that the separation was wearing on Dean as well. He still did things by the book; he didn't turn reckless and stupid without a younger voice of reason to guide him- but whether he would admit it or not, Sam was Dean's best friend. It was hard going for weeks at a time without seeing your best friend. _

_But now summer was approaching and Sam was ready to hit the roads once more. Time had worn away the negative memories and Sam was genuinely looking forward to the long days in a hot car, hunting things that could kill him. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder. _

_Or maybe it just made you stupid. _

_A tall man in a business suit brushed by Sam, knocking his elbow into his ribs. "Oh, sorry about that," the man said politely. The conveyor was moving now, and the crowd advanced on it like hungry piranha on a fresh carcass._

_Sam stepped forward as well, even though he knew it would still be several minutes before the luggage appeared. He stood next to a middle aged woman and a short, balding man, who were deep in conversation. _

_"I'm just saying," the woman said, her hands up before her, "Those woods aren't right. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were cursed."_

_"Yeah, well I don't believe in that nonsense," the man replied. "There's got to be a logical explanation."_

_"The wildlife is not the only thing disappearing!" she exclaimed. "People are too! I've been studying the owls in that forest for three months and the population is dwindling without any explanation. That place is giving me the creeps. I get this feeling… like something is watching me. The newspapers are calling it haunted… most people who go in don't come back out."_

_Sam moved closer, thoroughly intrigued._

_"So maybe the birds are migrating and the people are finding another way out. Maybe someone sprayed something that's killing all the mice. And maybe you have a peeping Tom!"_

_"Or maybe they know something's not right! Animals can tell things like that. Remember the tsunami?"_

_"So maybe Black Hills Forest is going to be hit with a tsunami."_

_The woman growled. "You're hopeless."_

_Luggage began tumbling onto the conveyor and the strangers moved away. Sam was left wondering what the woman was talking about. She sounded genuinely frightened, and her sturdy stature and tanned skin didn't lead him to believe she was someone who spooked easily. A haunted forest? It sounded right up his alley. Plus, it was in between the airport and Dean's hotel- it wouldn't hurt to take a quick peek. If it turned out to be a bust, then he'd wasted a couple hours of his time and saved that much of Dean's. If there really was something worth checking out, he jot down the coordinates and return tomorrow with Dean. _

_Simple._

_He shifted his backpack. Mind made up, Sam stepped forward and waited for his luggage. /_

His luggage- the taxi must have drove off with it when he didn't return. Sam wondered if everything would sill be there when he located it.

Dean cuffed him again, hard. "You mean you went into some strange forest alone because some crazy old bird watcher at an airport said she felt _creepy_? Come on, Sam!"

Sam pushed him back. "Well she was right, wasn't she?"

"Hello? Ever heard of _cell phones_?"

"Ever heard of _no reception_?" Sam shot back. He knew he'd been baited but he didn't care. "I'm not some amateur, Dean. The wraith had snuck up on me. It could have happened to anyone."

"Boys!" John shouted sharply, glaring at them from his position ten feet ahead. "Quit your jabbering! You're going to give away our location." He was holding the EMF reader in one hand and a shotgun in the other- his two favorite pieces of equipment.

Instantly, they fell silent. Sam pulled the .45 from his waistband and held it tightly as they entered the woods. The blackened tree branches reached for them like a witch's gnarled fingers. The darkness swallowed them and the air turned icy. He breathed deeply, his breath fogging on the exhale.

There was no turning back now.

They moved silently over the forest floor, years of training making 'stealth' just another ingrained habit. The air was silent and charged. It was as if the forest was holding its breath, waiting. Sam's heart beat faster with anticipation. He could feel the wraith's presence more sharply than ever before, and he wondered what that meant.

"Hey," Dean said softly, searching their surroundings. "I just want you to know, it's good to have you back, little brother."

The sentiment sounded strangely like the introduction to a farewell speech. "Thanks," he said cautiously. "It's good to be back."

"What do you say we kill this evil son of a bitch?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam. "And then get the hell out of Georgia."

They walked in silence for a minute before Sam said, "So I was thinking earlier, on the plane ride." He stopped, wanting Dean's interest before he continued.

"Yeah? Did you hurt yourself?"

The jab was expected and Sam ignored it. He had done a lot of thinking on that plane ride, and he wanted to share his proposal with Dean. "I thought that maybe, after I graduate, I could maybe take a year off, or something. You know, to… hunt. With you." It wasn't so much the hunt, but the companionship that Sam missed. Once he got a real job, their summer-long road trips wouldn't exist. His time with Dean would be reduced dramatically. As irritating as Dean could be, he was still Sam's big brother. The thought of only seeing him sporadically stung- it would be almost as bad as the first time he went to Stanford.

Dean's shock was apparent. "Really?" Hope lightened Dean's voice and Sam offered a small smile.

Sam shrugged, trying to play off his emotions for Dean's sake. "Yeah. That is, if you'll have me."

Dean looked at the ground, grinning. "You have to swear you'll get baths on a regular basis, and under no circumstances are you allowed to touch the car radio."

Sam's smile grew bigger. "Deal."

John stiffened and held up a hand, instantly drawing the boys' attention. Red and green lights flashed from the EMF reader and across the distance, they could hear its warning squeal. John motioned them to join him.

Sam jogged ahead a few steps. He and Dean flanked their father, wordlessly searching the dark army of trees. The sun was even deeper now, and the shadows almost black. There was plenty of cover in the darkness- plenty of places for the wraith to hide in plain sight. The needle of the EMF reader wavered on the right side of the unit. Every muscle in Sam's body was tense.

"Be ready," John said lowly. "It knows we're here. The clearing is fifty yards ahead. I'd like to keep the element of surprise- this bastard won't be easy to take down." He breathed deeply. "You boys ready?"

"Yes sir," they replied together.

"Okay. Let's move in."

It seemed to grow even darker then, and the weight of the gun became heavy and cold in Sam's hand. They approached slowly, using the cover of the trees. Sam pressed his hand to the rough bark as he looked to his father for the 'okay' to move forward. The rich, earthy scent filled his nostrils as he forced his breathing to slow. He could feel his heart in his chest, thumping against his ribs.

John held up two fingers, pointing them towards the clearing. Time to move.

Sam pushed off the tree, ignoring the grit that clung to his palm. With both hands wrapped tightly around his gun, he started forwards, backing his father.

The growl to his right was so low, his subconscious registered it before his brain did. The sound turned his blood to ice and Sam froze.

"Dean."

Dean stopped and turned, followed by John. Dean's face was hard as he raised the gun to a point over Sam's shoulder.

"Sam- don't move." John raised his shotgun and tightened his finger on the trigger.

His brother and his father were the only two living souls he trusted his life with, but right now, he was afraid. Shapes were barely distinguishable in the darkness. Their guns were loaded with salt which would work fine in repelling the wraith, but the only way to actually kill it would be to get to the altar and destroy it. They'd have to move fast, very fast.

"Sam, we'll hold it off." John was completely still as he spoke. "You get to Linda and break her hold on it. Can you do that, son?"

He was afraid to nod, as if the action would spur the wraith into attacking. "Yes sir," he said, his voice coming out as a whisper. He looked over the gun's barrel and into Dean's eyes, gathering his strength.

John glanced at his oldest son, his aim never wavering from the spot over Sam's shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean nodded, the small movement almost imperceptible. "Ready."

There was a short pause, then, "Now, Sam! Now!"

Sam ducked instantly as the bullets whizzed through the air over his head. Then he pushed off the ground and exploded into a run, heading for the clearing where the altar would be. Behind him, more shots were fired and an enraged howl filled the air. It was trying to follow him, as if aware of his intents.

It didn't matter. Right now, Sam was focused on one thing: getting to Linda.

Sam tore over the uneven ground, jumping over rotting branches and darting around thick trees. His reflexes were on high alert and he desperately wished the gun in his hand was instead a flashlight. His muscles burned as he crashed through the forest, no longer concentrating on stealth. Linda would know they were here now. The battle behind him would ensure that.

The glow of bright orange flames appeared and Sam pushed himself harder, running towards them. His foot slipped in a hole and he stumbled, crashing into a tree. He clung to the gun- because to drop your weapon would mean certain death- and a breathless curse escaped him. The weight of time pressed upon him harder with every gunshot that echoed through the woods. His head took a second to clear and Sam pushed off the tree, at last breaking into the clearing.

Sitting at the edge of the firelight, Linda appeared very calm. A bowl was on the ground before her and something shiny dangled from her fist. She watched with a small smile as Sam approached.

"Hello, Sam."

He stopped beside the crackling fire, panting heavily. Next to him, the flames licked at the sky, sending up sparks of glowing embers. "Linda…" he breathed, wanting to say so many things at once. He settled for: "Why?"

Instead of an answer, she looked down at the dark liquid circling the bowl. "I'm sorry," she said softly. The small silver cross twirled gently upon the fragile chain. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

An inhuman scream sliced through the air behind him. It was getting closer.

"I trusted you," he panted, his eyebrows pinching together. "We all trusted you. Why would you do this?"

She looked up sharply, the lines on her face deepening from the fire's glow. "I didn't choose it!" she shouted. "It was an accident! You think I _want_ to be responsible for that thing? I have been bound to it as much as it has been bound to me. It's this," she said, holding out the necklace with a look of disgust. "It's been in my family for generations, passed down through many hands. It was given to me by my mother, as she lay on my bed, dying of cancer. She was brought to me by fate, much as you were Sam. I cared for her in her final days. We had no money, no other relatives… but she wanted me to have this. Told me is was special to her. Her final breath was spent asking me to promise to take care of it." Linda chuckled, a watery, humorless sound. "I suppose I interpreted her words the wrong way."

Sam stood still, no longer gasping for breath. His mind flashed upon the picture at the bottom of the stairs. He'd always felt it was special to her, but Linda had never spoken about it. "The woman in the photograph?"

Linda nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek. "My mother- her name was Evelyn. She passed away eleven years ago, and I've worn this ever since." Her hand fell into her lap, the bottom of the cross dipping into the blood. "If only I had know the curse that she passed onto me…"

Sam stepped forward, the gunshots and shouting behind him nearly unheard. He knelt down before her. "Why didn't you get rid of it?"

"Oh Sam," Linda breathed, looking him in the eyes. "I tried. But I'm out here all alone. I couldn't pass it on to anyone else, couldn't bear to burden anyone else with this evil." She shook her head. "I was cursed- I can't expect you to understand that. I didn't know what to do, where to go for help. So I tried to control it instead."

Sam's heart swelled in his chest, knowing exactly what it was like to feel cursed. "You managed to bind it to the forest."

"I managed to protect the house. It's safe- the one place the evil cannot harm anyone."

Something heavy crashed into the clearing behind him and they jumped. Sam spun around. The wraith was in the form of the cougar, its body sleek and shining as it silver claws and fangs glittered with deadliness. It struggled to right itself, muscles bulging under a pure black skin. Behind it, Dean stumbled into the clearing, bleeding from a long set of claw marks in his side. Almost before he could orient himself, the wraith found its feet and lunged for Dean, arching five feet into the air before a salt-filled bullet to the belly dissipated it.

Panic twisted Sam's gut. "We can help you!" he shouted over the noise. "We can protect you from it!"

Linda shook her head slowly, sadly. "This has gone on long enough, Sam. I've caused enough pain to you and your family- and to others years before now. I'm just so tired of it all." She gazed at the fire, unflinching despite the chaos. "My husband is dead and my children are gone. It's time for this all to end."

Sam's mind was racing and thoughts tumbled through his head faster than he could grasp them. There had to be something they could do! There had to be a way to free her from this horrible burden! She was a good person, Damnit! She didn't deserve this! If only they had known earlier- if only they had more time…

His father's pain-filled scream sent him to his feet. John was underneath the wraith, bleeding freely from multiple lacerations. Dean's weapon was pointed at the thing's back but no gunshot sounded. He threw the gun to the ground and grabbed the shotgun. "Sam, NOW!"

Sam turned back to Linda, who was on her feet beside him. She was still staring into the flames, tears rolling softly down her cheeks and dripping to the ground like tiny crystals. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Linda-"

"Goodbye."

"Wait!" Sam reached out as she drew back her hand and flung the necklace into the roaring fire. He was too late.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Dean yelled once again, resorting to using the shotgun as a club and attempting to strike the beast across the back. Linda looked at Sam. His breath caught at the sight of all her pain and anguish. He shook his head. "Linda…" he whispered, then everything fell silent.

The wraith stopped its attack and John quickly rolled out from under the thing, Dean helping him to his feet as they scrambled away. The wraith looked up. Its red eyes were glowing as it fixed Linda with a deadly stare- the stare of an imprisoned wild animal finally stepping out of its cage. It licked its lips and growled, the firelight glinting off its wet fangs.

Slowly, silently, it began padding forward, shoulder blades bouncing as its head hung low. Its long tail swished snake-like behind it.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. John's right arm lay over his shoulders. Their blood sparkled in the light. "Come here, Sam!"

Sam moved to the side one step. Linda remained where she was, facing the wraith head on.

Then without warning, it ducked into a crouch and sprang forward, all liquid grace and black death. Its front legs locked, claws extended as it stretched through the air, back legs tucked up under its belly, tail up and straight out behind it.

It collided with Linda, her face contorting with pain as the claws pierced her heart. Locked together, momentum pushed them both backwards and into the blazing flames. Embers and sparks splashed outwards, stinging Sam's arms and face as the fire swallowed them, roaring with pleasure.

And that fast, it was over.


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

Sam heaved the duffle bag into the Impala's back seat and closed the door. He wiped a drop of sweat from his temple and looked back to the old house one more time, squinting in the sunlight. Missouri and his father stood on the porch, talking quietly. Bear lay in front of the rear tire, panting softly.

A body came to rest beside his, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder. "Kinda a nice old house, for a bed and breakfast in southern Georgia."

Sam nodded, swallowing. "Missouri get a hold of Linda's kids?"

"Yeah, they're flying down this weekend to go through the stuff. They're going to sell the house."

Sam blinked when he felt Bear's head settle on his foot. "What about the dog?"

Dean shrugged. "He'll get a nice home."

This was a nice home, Sam wanted to say. "He's old- he deserves a nice family."

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the adults. At last, Dean spoke up.

"You okay?"

Sam shrugged half-heartedly. "I will be." In time.

"I'm sorry. I know you liked her-"

"She was a good person," Sam said firmly. "She didn't want any of it." She had died protecting him, as had his mother and maybe even Jess.

Dean looked at the ground. "She was a good person," he repeated softly, respect in his voice. "But we gotta move on."

The words twisted Sam's heart even more and he could swear it would split apart any moment. "I know."

He looked at Dean, who offered a cocky smile as if it would cure the pain Sam felt inside. This had been a battle not easily won. There was no celebration to be had here. Both Dean and their father had been sewn up late last night, once they'd returned to the house. Missouri had been waiting anxiously, even going so far as to have a first aid kit out on the kitchen table. But time had always been the best healer of Winchester wounds, and now that the wraith was gone, they had plenty of it.

They had made up some bullshit story about a campfire accident, and Linda's children, although shaken by the loss, bought it. In the darkness before dawn, Sam had marked her deathbed with a simple wooden cross and a handful of Linda's own roses. The loss weighed heavily in his heart, reawakening the pain of loosing Jessica. Tears had been threatening to spill all morning and a hard lump in his throat made talking painful. The house had been quiet all morning, the sense of loss overwhelming and oppressive. Even the dog was lethargic.

At last, John and Missouri stepped off the porch and approached the brothers. "Everything's set," John announced. "A neighbor will be by tonight to feed the dog and check on things."

This was the part where they left, got into their cars and drove away, never looking back. Sam swallowed.

"I got a call this morning- there's a job for me in Houston. Missouri's coming with me." He stopped, looking between both boys. "You guys gonna be okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yes sir. I'm taking Sam back to California."

"Sam? You okay, son?"

Sam was too depressed to express his sadness at their family's separation, too depressed to get angry at his father's announcement. Suddenly he felt exhausted of it all, of the hunting and the driving and the wanting something better… he was tired of this life. But they were looking at him, hope flickering in their eyes, waiting for his response. He managed to give them a flash of his smallest smile. "I'll be fine."

And maybe, in time, he would be.

As they drove away, Sam rested his forehead against window as quiet, classic rock filled the silence. Outside, a large hawk glided through the air, the first animal to approach the forest in eleven years. It swooped down, coming to rest on a blackened branch just inside the tree line, its wings fluttering experimentally. The bird quickly settled down and remained where it was, turning its head to survey its new territory.

END


End file.
